“Why not a run to Saint Malo and a couple of months’ yachting?”

Sir Mark proposed as a cure foreign travel, but Myra refused to go. Edie tried vainly to inveigle her into some distraction, and Guest spent a little fortune in concert and opera tickets in trying to persuade her to accompany them, but they were generally wasted.

Miss Jerrold tried hard, too, and was more successful, coaxing her niece to come and stay at her house, or to spend quiet afternoons with her, no one else being admitted. And all the time it was understood that the unfortunate engagement was a subject tabooed; but one day, when Myra was with her alone, Guest having been there by accident when the cousins came—that is to say, by one of his accidents, and at a suggestion from Miss Jerrold that a walk would do Edie good, as her face looked “very pasty,” having taken Edie for the said walk—Miss Jerrold seeing the wistful eyes, sunken cheeks, and utter prostration of her niece’s face, bethought her of a plan to try and revive interest in things mundane, at a time when the girl seemed to be slowly dropping out of life.

“We’ve petted and cosseted her too much,” said Aunt Jerrold to herself. “I’ll try that.”

She tried that, and attacked her niece in a very blunt, rough way, keenly watching the effect of her words the while.

“I do wonder at a girl of your spirit wearing your heart out for the sake of a scoundrel. That’s done it!” she added to herself, for a complete change came over Myra’s aspect.

“Aunt!” she cried indignantly.

“I can’t help it, my dear,” said the old lady sharply. “I’ve kept it back too long, and it’s only just that I should tell you how reprehensible your conduct is. Here is a wretched man who professes to love you—”

“Malcolm Stratton did love me, aunt,” said Myra proudly, as stung beyond endurance she gave utterance to the thoughts she had kept hidden so long.

“Looks like it!” continued Aunt Jerrold. “Bah! the horsepond is too good for such as he!”

Myra turned upon her fiercely.

“Aunt,” she cried, “it is not true!”

“But it is true, my dear, or the wretch would have said a few words in his defence.”

“I cannot stay here and listen to you, aunt,” cried Myra, rising with dignity. “It is cruel of you to speak of Mr Stratton like this.”

“Oh, of course. Silly girl! The worse a man is, the more weak, infatuated woman defends him.”

“I defend him, aunt, because I am sure there must be some good reasons for Mr Stratton’s conduct. He was not the man who could have acted so. His whole career gives your charges the lie.”

At that moment Edie and Guest returned, the former joyous and bright, but forcing a serious look as soon as she saw her cousin’s agitated face.

“I am waiting for you, Edie,” said Myra coldly; and, turning to her aunt, she bent her head slightly. “Good-afternoon, Mr Guest,” she said, and she left the drawing room.

“Aunt, dear, what is the matter?” whispered Edie.

“We’ve been quarrelling, my dear; thank goodness!” said Miss Jerrold dryly. “There, good-bye. Run after her, little woman. Kiss me; I haven’t quarrelled with you.”

She embraced the girl affectionately; and as Guest followed to the door, and held out his hand, Miss Jerrold whispered:

“Come up again when you’ve seen them to the carriage.”

In five minutes Guest was back looking at his hostess wonderingly, for the old lady was standing in the middle of the room with her face full of wrinkles, and her arms folded across her chest. She did not seem to see him, and he made a slight movement to attract her attention, when she waved her hand toward a chair.

“Sit down, boy,” she said, without looking in his direction; “I’m thinking. I’ll attend to you directly.”

He obeyed, more puzzled than ever; and at last she took a chair by the back, dragged it across the carpet in a masculine way, and thumped it down in front of him.

“It’s not a pleasant subject for a lady—an unmarried lady—to talk about, Percy Guest,” she said; “but I’m getting such an old woman now that I think it’s time I might speak plainly.”

“What about?” said Guest, wondering of what breach of good manners he had been guilty.

“What about, you silly boy? Here’s poor Myra eating her heart out, Edie miserable, my brother a perfect bear, I’m worried to death, and you say, what about! Malcolm Stratton, to be sure.”

“Oh!” cried Guest, very much relieved.

“Well, I do not see anything to look pleased about, sir.”

“No, of course not; only I thought I had been doing something.”

“You have been doing nothing, it seems to me,” said Miss Jerrold sharply.

“Really, I have done my best.”

“But I thought barristers were such clever people!”

“Oh, dear no,” said Guest seriously. “Very stupid folk as a rule. Sort of gun a barrister is. The ............