"Now, May," began Miss Waller in her most portentous tone, on Monday morning, "I must have an explanation with you. I'm going home this week, for it's ruinously expensive being here; and to-day Mr. Lang is coming for his answer. Without any beating about the bush, I expect you to marry him."

"Oh, aunt, don't—don't!" entreated May, wringing her hands. "I cannot marry Mr. Lang."

"What childish nonsense! Fancy refusing a house in Palace Gardens, and all that money!"

"I can't and won't marry him."

"Very well, then, you and Doris must find another home. I have pinched myself to keep you in luxury; but if you will be so wickedly blind to your plain duty, I wash my hands of you."

"I don't care one bit for myself, aunt; I could earn a living, I'm sure, and I'd gladly do it. Let me try," pleaded May, "I will promise never to cost you another penny, if you will only be so kind as to give Doris a home until I am able to keep her myself."

"Which will not be till Doomsday. Talk of earning your living—what rubbish! Why, you haven't even one decent accomplishment. No, if you leave my house, Doris goes, too; I won't have the little spoilt monkey left on my hands."

"But, aunt——"

"Besides, think what advantages you could give Doris if you married Mr. Lang—the best possible education, horses, carriages, Continental trips, everything! If you really cared at all for your child, you couldn't hesitate for a minute."

It was a clever argument, and it made May waver as nothing else could; and Miss Waller did not know whether to be glad or sorry that just then Mr. Lang himself was announced.

"Don't go, Miss Waller," he began, as the spinster, after a few casual observations, was about to leave the room. "I've nothing to say to Mrs. Burnside you may not hear as well. Your niece knows by this time that I am anxious to have her for my wife. I want to marry and settle down now, and I can promise you," he added, turning to face May for the first time, "a most luxurious home—you've seen it—both for yourself and your little girl. Your aunt wishes it, I know; and I hope, Mrs. Burnside—May—you'll make me very happy by saying you'll be my wife before Christmas."

He came closer, and would have taken her hand; but she started back. Her aunt's basilisk eyes were fixed on her, to add to her discomfiture; but she said as firmly as she could, "I am very grateful for your kindness, Mr. Lang; nevertheless, I must refuse your offer, for I do not love you, and I could not marry any man unless I did."

"Now, really, Miss Waller," remonstrated the plutocrat, turning with an injured air to the wrathful spinster, "I call this too bad! It was understood between us that you would prepare Mrs. Burnside, so that it might all be plain sailing. I'm not accustomed to ask and be refused, I can tell you."

"May must have lost her senses to reject such an offer, Mr. Lang," returned Miss Waller, with an annihilating glance at her niece. "She is an ungrateful, undutiful girl; and if she refuses you, I will have nothing more to do with her."

"Well," rejoined Mr. Lang, with a gulp, as if swallowing something very nauseous to the taste, "I must confess I didn't expect to be sent to the right-about like this. However, young ladies often change their minds; and perhaps, when Mrs. Burnside thinks my offer quietly over, she may alter her opinion. I've great faith in your persuasions, Miss Waller. I've just had a telegram, saying a fall of rock has damaged the machinery at the Springkloof, and I'm wanted out there, so I must sail for the Cape at once. I expect to be away some months; by November I shall probably be back in England. I give Mrs. Burnside until then to consider my offer; I won't look upon this as a final rejection. I'm sure, when she thinks of all I'm in a position to offer, she can't be so foolish as to refuse."

"How kind—how generous!" exclaimed Miss Waller, as May stood in stony silence. "I promise in my niece's name that when you come back she will accept you. I hope we shall see you again before you leave?"

"Well, no, for I've a lot to do before I go. But I'll write to you; and as soon as I possibly can I shall return for Mrs. Burnside's answer."

As if in a sick dream, with this threat ringing in her ears, May mechanically tendered him her limp hand in farewell. When they were once more alone her aunt said in crisp, dry tones:

"I shall return to Beachbourne on Wednesday, and make arrangements for spending August and September in visiting amongst our friends in the country. We have plenty of invitations. I have said all I need say on the subject of Mr. Lang. Meanwhile, you can choose between Palace Gardens and every luxury, and a life of starvation and beggary for you and Doris."

Despite the apparent calm with which Mr. Lang had taken May's rejection of his flattering offer, he was nevertheless in a very bad temper when he left the house and jumped into his victoria. He was not accustomed to rebuffs—which made the fact that he had just been rejected by a penniless widow, only saved from actual want by her aunt's charity, doubly galling.

"I'm mad to care so much about a pale-faced girl with nothing to say for herself; and I really ought to do better. I could easily marry a lady of title, or anybody I choose; and it would serve her right if I went straight off and proposed to somebody else, just to show her that rich husbands don't grow on every bush!"

Revenge is always the first thought of a mean mind which is smarting from a sense of injury. Mr. Lang chuckled over this idea for some time, and the result was, that when Esther Inglis entered their one sitting-room about half-past five that day, she found Mr. Lang seated in the most comfortable chair, awaiting her.

She instantly assumed her thorny manner; but it had no more effect than it would have had upon a rhinoceros. "I've come to say good-bye for the present, Miss Inglis," he airily remarked, as if his visit were a matter of course. "I leave to-morrow for Johannesburg on business; and as I shall probably see your brother, it would give me great pleasure to take charge of anything you may wish to send him."

Esther's handsome face relaxed. Really it was very kind and thoughtful of Mr. Lang, who, with his influence, might prove a valuable friend to Jack.

"It is very good of you, and in his last letter Jack asked us to send him some collars and ties; they are such a fearful price at Johannesburg, and not good. But they are not bought yet, and you say you leave to-morrow?"

"Yes, but the shops will not be closed for some time, and my victoria is at the door, if you will honour me by using it to go where you wish."

Esther hesitated a moment; but the opportunity of saving expensive and troublesome postage, besides serving Jack, was too good to lose. Mr. Lang rose, and indicated a box lying on the table.

"I've brought you a little fruit, Miss Inglis, just sent to me from my country place near Dorking. My head-gardener prides himself on his peaches and nectarines; but I must leave you to judge."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Esther, with sparkling eyes; for she had not tasted a nectarine since leaving Mallowfleld. In a moment she had undone the satin ribbon which tied down the lid, and was feasting her eyes on such peaches as she had seldom seen.

"As you seem fond of fruit, I'll give orders to my gardener to send you a box periodically," observed Mr. Lang. "Oh, don't thank me; I shall be away, and somebody may as well enjoy it. And if you'll have the parcel and letters ready, my footman shall call for them to-morrow morning."

He accompanied Esther down to the street, where his beautifully appointed carriage was waiting; and it must be confessed she enjoyed finding herself seated behind a spruce coachman and footman once more. "You will take this lady's orders," pompously commanded Mr. Lang. "Keep the carriage as long as you like, Miss Inglis, and I'll not forget about the parcel."

So manifest was his desire to propitiate, that Esther could do no less than bid him a civil farewell, with the hope that he might have a pleasant journey. Then she rolled away, looking so much at home in the smart carriage that Mr. Lang gazed after her admiringly.

"By Jove, how well she sets the whole thing off! Looks like a lady used to carriages all her life. May Burnside really isn't a patch upon Esther Inglis; there is no mistake about that!"

Had Miss Waller only been there to hear him, she might well have trembled for the success of her darling scheme of marrying May to a rich man.

[END OF CHAPTER TWELVE.]