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“His name is Evelyn.” There was a slight tremor in Edith’s voice.

“How came you to know him?”

“I met him here last season.”

“You did?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I danced with him last night. Was there any harm in that?” The maiden’s voice had regained its firmness.

“I didn’t say there was,” returned Mrs. Ravensworth, who again relapsed into silence. Not long after, she said–“I think we will return to London on Thursday.”

“So soon!” Edith spoke in a disappointed voice.

“Do you find it so very pleasant here?” said the aunt, a little ironically.

“I have not complained of its being dull, aunt,” replied Edith. “But if you wish to return on Thursday, I will be ready to accompany you.”

Soon after this, Edith Hamilton left her aunt’s room, and went to one of the drawing-rooms of the hotel at which they were staying, where she sat down near a recess window that overlooked a beautiful promenade. She had been here only a few minutes, when she was joined by a handsome youth, to whom Edith said–

“How could you venture to the door of my aunt’s parlour? I’m half afraid she detected your presence, for she said, immediately afterward, that we would return to London on the day after to-morrow.”

“So soon? Well, I’ll be there next week, and it will be strange if, with your consent, we don’t meet often.”

“Edward Hamden is expected in a few days,” replied Edith, her voice slightly faltering.

Her companion looked at her searchingly for a few moments, and then said–

“You have never met him?”

“Never.”

“But when you do meet him, the repugnance you now feel may instantly vanish.”

A shadow passed over Edith’s face, and she answered in a voice that showed the remark–the tone of which conveyed more than the words themselves–to have been felt as a question of her constancy.

“Can one whose heart is all unknown to me, one who must think of me with a feeling of dislike because of bonds and pledges, prove a nearer or a dearer friend than–“

Edith did not finish the sentence. But that was not needed. The glance of rebuking tenderness cast upon her companion expressed all that her lips had failed to utter.

“But you do not know me, Edith,” said the young man.

“My heart says differently,” was Edith’s lowly spoken reply.

Evelyn pressed the maiden’s hand, and looked into her face with an earnest, loving expression.

Mrs. Ravensworth, to whose care Edith had been consigned on the death of her father, had never been pleased with the unwise contract made by the parents of her niece and Edward Hamden. The latter had been for ten years in Paris and Italy, travelling and pursuing his studies. These being completed, in obedience to the will of a deceased parent, he was about returning to London to meet his future wife. No correspondence had taken place between the parties to this unnatural contract; and, from the time of Edward’s letter, when he announced to Mrs. Ravensworth his proposed visit, it was plain that his feelings were as little interested in his future partner as were hers in him.

During the two or three days that Mrs. Ravensworth and her niece remained at the watering-place, Edith and young Evelyn met frequently; but, as far as possible, at times when they supposed the particular attention of the aunt would not be drawn toward them in such a manner as to penetrate their love secret. When, at length, they parted, it was with an understanding that they were to meet in London.

On returning to the city, the thoughts of Edith reverted more directly to the fact of Edward Hamden’s approaching visit; and, in spite of all her efforts to remain undisturbed in her feelings, the near approach of this event agitated her. Mrs. Ravensworth frequently alluded to the subject, and earnestly pressed upon Edith the consideration of her duty to her parent, as well as the consequences that must follow her disregard of the contract which had been made. But the more she talked on this subject, the more firm was Edith in expressing her determination not to do violence to her feelings in a matter so vital to her happiness.