Dillwyn had received Mrs. Greatorex's note with joy. Here was the meeting he had hoped to gain by a manoeuvre actually given him by the enemy. He reached the villa next morning so much before the appointed hour that he had to stroll up and down the road until his watch told him he might march to the attack. It struck twelve by Mrs. Greatorex's tiny hall clock as he walked into her house.

She was in the drawing-room awaiting him. She gave him her hand, certainly, but a very unpleasant glance with it. She looked cold, calm, determined. The young man regarding her could have laughed aloud, only that he felt so sad. What was the good of it all? He knew himself, and he knew the girl he loved, and—who could part them?

Over there in the window was the girl he loved, standing up bravely, with a little troubled smile upon her lips—but still a smile—and all for him. What a stout heart she had, his dear, pretty girl!

"I am glad you have come, Dr. Dillwyn," said Mrs. Greatorex.

"Agatha refused me her confidence, but I have heard from other sources of your—you must forgive me if I call them presumptuous—attentions to my niece. Of course, considering your position in life, I do not take them seriously; but such as they are, they rather prejudice her chances of making an excellent marriage."

"I am afraid you will have to take my attentions seriously," said Dillwyn, looking at her very quietly, but with purpose on his brow. "Indeed I am sure of it. I love Miss Nesbitt, and she—-" He hesitated, and Agatha, seeing his uncertainty, stepped bravely into the breach.

"Loves you!" said she, in a low, frightened, but very clear tone.

Mrs. Greatorex looked at her.

"Were all my words in vain? Have you not yet learned the meaning of modesty? Stand back, Agatha, whilst I speak."

The girl retreated a little, more from habit than anything else, and Mrs. Greatorex once more addressed Dillwyn.

"I want just an answer to one question," said she. "If you were to marry my niece, could you support her—in even such small comfort as she has been accustomed to?"

"Not now, perhaps. But we have both time before us, and we can wait a little while"; he looked at her intently. "I shall conquer in the end. I know that."

"It is probable," said Mrs. Greatorex, in quite a liberal sort of spirit. "But in the meantime you condemn the girl you profess to love to certain privations!"

"I don't believe in marriages where love is left out," said he.

"But you do believe in love where a girl delicately nurtured is exposed to absolute poverty! So you think that to wilfully destroy a girl's chance in life means love?"

"A girl's chance! There is but one chance for any soul living, man or woman," said Dillwyn; "and that is to follow the straight road—the dictates of his or her own conscience. Why should Agatha diverge from it? Why should she sell all that is most dear to her—herself—her mind—all—for mere dross?"

"I am to believe, then," said Mrs. Greatorex, "that you have made up your mind to drag Agatha down with you into the abyss of poverty. Have you thought of the selfishness of that?"

"I hope it will not be poverty," said Dillwyn slowly.

Mrs. Greatorex's brow grew dark.

"Agatha, come here!" said she, in a tone of extreme anger. But Agatha did not stir. She was evidently very comfortable were she was, and her sweet proximity strengthened Dillwyn.

"She is is mine," said he; "I claim her. Mrs. Greatorex, why would you part us?"

"For her good—and especially now. You refuse to consider how you are injuring her. An advantage has fallen into her life, and you must wilfully deprive her of it."

"An advantage! Darkham do you mean? As for that," said Dillwyn,

"I am not depriving her of an advantage. I am saving her from"— he paused—"misery. Agatha!" He laid his hands on her shoulders and held her back from him, and studied her a moment. It was a sweet study. "You believe me?"

"I believe you always!"

She clung closer to him, and looked with a strange sort of sad defiance over her shoulder at Mrs. Greatorex.

"The matter is not ended yet," said the latter. "I beg, Dr. Dillwyn, that you will leave me. And you, Agatha,—you—-"

"Oh, do not be so angry with me," cried the girl, thrusting Dillwyn from her, and running to the woman who had befriended her so long, and catching her in her strong young arms, and holding her. She was mistaken—wrong. She would hurry her into a marriage that meant death to her—but she did not know. Agatha at that moment assured herself that Mrs. Greatorex could not know. "Aunt Hilda, think—think—-"

"Of what?"

"Of how much nicer Jack is than Dr. Darkham," said she.

"I never spend my thoughts on absurdities," said Mrs. Greatorex.

She disengaged herself finally from Agatha and turned to Dillwyn.

"You, of course, understand that your visits here are at an end," said she; "and your acquaintance with my niece also." Dillwyn bowed.

"My visits shall be at an end, of course; but my acquaintance with Miss Nesbitt—-"

"What, sir! After all I have said—after representing to you that you are damaging her fortune—you refuse to withdraw your—-"

"Claim!" He suggested the word. "Yes; I refuse."

"You are aware that she will not have a penny from me on her marriage with you or ever?"

"How could the consideration of money attach itself to her?" said he, with a tender smile—his eyes were now on Agatha. "Surely she herself—How could one think of money?" said he.

He went forward and drew Agatha into his arms and kissed her. It was the simplest action. He then bowed to Mrs. Greatorex and left the room.