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 the third or fourth day after the trial, one of the maids came to them and told Madeline that a gentleman was in the house who wished to see her.

'A gentleman!' said Madeline.

'Mr. Orme, miss. My lady told me to ask you up if you were anywhere near.'

'I suppose I must go,' said Madeline, from whom all her pretty freedom of manner and light happiness of face departed on the moment. She had told Felix everything as to poor Peregrine in return for that story of his respecting Mary Snow. To her it seemed as though that had made things equal between them,—for she was too generous to observe that though she had given nothing to her other lover, Felix had been engaged for many months to marry his other love. But girls, I think, have no objection to this. They do not desire first fruits, or even early fruits, as men do. Indeed, I am not sure whether experience on the part of a gentleman in his use of his heart is not supposed by most young ladies to enhance the value of the article. Madeline was not in the least jealous of Mary Snow; but with great goodnature promised to look after her, and patronize her when she should have become Mrs. Albert Fitzallen. 'But I don't think I should like that Mrs. Thomas,' she said.

'You would have mended the stockings for her all the same.'

'O yes, I would have done that;—and so did Miss Snow. But I would have kept my box locked. She should never have seen my letters.'

It was now absolutely necessary that she should return to the house, and say to Peregrine Orme what words of comfort might be possible for her. If she could have spoken simply with her heart, she would have said much that was friendly, even though it might not be comfortable. But it was necessary that she should express herself in words, and she felt that the task was very difficult. 'Will you come in?' she said to Felix.

'No, I think not. But he's a splendid fellow, and to me was a stanch friend. If I can catch him as he comes out I will speak to him.' And then Madeline, with hesitating steps, with her hat still on her head, and her gloves on her hands, walked through the hall into the drawing-room. There she found her mother seated on the sofa, and Peregrine Orme standing before her. Madeline walked up to him with extended hand and a kindly welcome, though she felt that the colour was high in her cheeks. Of course it would be impossible to come out from such an interview as this without having confessed her position, or hearing it confessed by her mother in her presence. That, however, had been already done, and Peregrine knew that the prize was gone.

'How do you do, Miss Staveley?' said he. 'As I am going to