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Mr. Mott eyed him in amazement.

“You see, I only heard from her mother,” pursued Mr. Hurst, “and a friend of mine who is in a solicitor’s office says that isn’t good enough. I only came down here to make sure, and I think the least she can do is to tell me herself. If she won’t see me, perhaps she’d put it in writing. You see, there’s another lady.”

“But” said the mystified Mr. Mott.

“You told me—-“

“You tell her that,” said the other.

Mr. Mott stood for a few seconds staring at him, and then without a word turned on his heel and went upstairs. Left to himself, Mr. Hurst walked nervously up and down the room, and, catching sight of his face in the old-fashioned glass on the mantel-piece, heightened its colour by a few pinches. The minutes seemed inter-minable, but at last he heard the steps of Mr. Mott on the stairs again.

“She’s coming down to see you herself,” said the latter, solemnly.

Mr. Hurst nodded, and, turning to the window, tried in vain to take an interest in passing events. A light step sounded on the stairs, the door creaked, and he turned to find himself con-fronted by Miss Garland.

“Uncle told me” she began, coldly. Mr. Hurst bowed.

“I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” he said, trying to control his voice, “but you see my position, don’t you?”

“No,” said the girl.

“Well, I wanted to make sure,” said Mr. Hurst. “It’s best for all of us, isn’t it? Best for you, best for me, and, of course, for my young lady.”

“You never said anything about her before,” said Miss Garland, her eyes darkening.

“Of course not,” said Mr. Hurst. “How could I? I was engaged to you, and then she wasn’t my young lady; but, of course, as soon as you broke it off–“

“Who is she?” inquired Miss Garland, in a casual voice.

“You don’t know her,” said Mr. Hurst.

“What is she like?”

“I can’t describe her very well,” said Mr. Hurst. “I can only say she’s the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I think that’s what made me take to her. And she’s easily pleased. She liked the things I have been buying for the house tremendously.”

“Did she?” said Miss Garland, with a gasp.

“All except that pair of vases you chose,” continued the veracious Mr. Hurst. “She says they are in bad taste, but she can give them to the charwoman.”

“Oh!” said the girl. “Oh, indeed! Very kind of her. Isn’t there anything else she doesn’t like?”

Mr. Hurst stood considering.

“She doesn’t like the upholstering of the best chairs,” he said at last. “She thinks they are too showy, so she’s going to put covers over them.”

There was a long pause, during which Mr. Mott, taking his niece gently by the arm, assisted her to a chair.

“Otherwise she is quite satisfied,” concluded Mr. Hurst.

Miss Garland took a deep breath, but made no reply.

“I have got to satisfy her that I am free,” said the young man, after another pause. “I suppose that I can do so?”

“I–I’ll think it over,” said Miss Garland, in a low voice. “I am not sure what is the right thing to do. I don’t want to see you made miserable for life. It’s nothing to me, of course, but still–“

She got up and, shaking off the proffered assistance of her uncle, went slowly and languidly up to her room. Mr. Mott followed her as far as the door, and then turned indignantly upon Mr. Hurst.

“You–you’ve broke her heart,” he said, solemnly.

“That’s all right,” said Mr. Hurst, with a delighted wink. “I’ll mend it again.”