Margaret was living in an earthly paradise. Existence, indeed, was more like a beautiful dream to her than the gray and sober reality it is to most of us.

To be loved is a nice thing, a grand thing, a fact which gilds even the most prosaic life and makes it bright; but to be loved by such a man as Lord Blair—so handsome, so brave, so devoted, and so passionately and entirely hers! It passed all saying, as the Italians put it; and Margaret's days were full of sweetness and joy; for if he did not see her every day, he managed to come down three or four times a week, and they met in stolen interviews at the cascade, or in the deeper recesses of the woods.

And Blair—Blair, who had gained for himself the reputation of the most fickle young man in London—seemed more deeply in love every time they parted.

If Margaret had been the scheming girl, aiming at the Ferrers' coronet, which Austin Ambrose at first imagined her, she could not have gone more cleverly to work to secure Lord Blair Leyton.

Once or twice he had brought her down some presents, a ring at first, a bracelet the next time, but Margaret would not accept them.

"I will take nothing I cannot wear, Blair," she said. "Pick this bunch of honeysuckle for me, and I will put it in my hair; I like that better than all your jewels."

But the third time he brought her a locket. Its face was a mass of pearls, with one large and costly diamond sparkling in the center.

"You can wear this, dearest," he said pleadingly.

"Yes, I can wear that," she said in the soft, melting voice, which used to echo in his ears long after he had left her and was up in town. "I can wear that," and she tied it by her ribbon round her neck and hid it away in her bosom. "No one can see that, and I can take it out——"

"Off?" he said.

"No, sir," she corrected him, blushing; "I shall not take it off again, but I shall take it out whenever I am likely to forget you."

"Don't say that, even in fun, Madge," he said in a low voice, and with a sudden look of pain. "I can't bear to think of you forgetting me. Why, if I were dead, and you were walking near my grave——" he stopped; and she murmured the well-known song:

"That's it!" he said, approvingly and admiringly. "What a memory you have got, Madge. Is it Shakespeare?"

"No; Tennyson," and she smiled. "What an ignorant boy it is!"

"Ain't I?" he said, with a laugh. "Austin often says that the things I know would go into half a sheet of note-paper, and the things I don't would more than fill the reading-room at the British Museum. But one thing I know, Madge, and that is that I love you with all my heart and soul."

"I'll forgive you all the rest!" she murmured.

She was painting the picture the earl had commissioned, and she took up her brush and palette and worked, while Blair sat at her side, watching her with an admiring wonder, as the skillful hand conveyed the little bushy dell to the canvas.

"What a fuss they'll make about you when we are married," he said, after a pause.

Margaret bent forward to hide the blush which the words had called up.

"Who are they? And why should they make a fuss?" she asked.

"They? Oh, all the people, you know. They'll make no end of you, Madge. You see, you are so good-looking——"

She threatened him with her wet brush.

—"And then you are so clever, and this painting of yours will just finish them off. I shouldn't wonder if you are the leading item in the next season."

"The next season!" echoed Margaret, turning her eyes upon him.

He colored and looked rather guilty; then he raised his eyes to hers boldly.

"Yes, next season. You are going to marry me soon, you know, Madge!"

"Soon?" she repeated dreamily. "Two years, five years hence will be soon."

"Oh, will it?" he remarked, aghast. "Why, Madge, Austin says we ought to be married next month."

Margaret almost dropped her pencil, and stared at him; then her eyelids fell, and the warm color spread over her face and neck.

"And yet you are always boasting that Austin Ambrose never talks nonsense!" she said, with gentle irony.

"But is it such nonsense, dear?" he urged, putting his arm around her waist, and looking up at her downcast face. "I don't think it is nonsense at all! If you knew how long even a few weeks seem to me—but I don't put it that way. But, remember, my darling, that this is all very well down here; I can run down and spend some hours with you—how short they seem, heigh ho!—but you will be going to London directly——"

"Directly I have finished this picture—next week," she put in gently.

"So soon?" he said, sadly. "Well then we sha'n't be able to see so much of each other; at least, Austin says we mustn't."

"Mr. Austin says so?"

He nodded.

"Yes; he is more anxious than ever that our engagement should be kept secret, and every time he sees me he talks and lectures me about it. 'He's such a careful man,' as the song says," and he laughed.

Margaret remained silent. What would the days be like in hot and dusty London if she were not to see Blair, not to hear the voice she loved murmuring its passionate devotion in her ears! Her bosom rose with a soft sigh.

"I suppose he is right—yes, he is right," she said. "And we shall meet, if we do meet, as strangers, Blair? But we sha'n't meet, shall we?"

"You are talking nonsense now," he chided her. "Of course we shall. I can take you up the river, up to Cookham and Pangbourne. How delightful it will be!"

"And some of your grand friends will see us, and then——"

"Oh, we'll chance that!" he said, lightly.

"We must chance nothing that may do you an injury, Blair," she said, gravely.

"Oh, Austin will take care that we do nothing imprudent," he said. "He has taken our case in hand, as he says, and we can't do better than put ourselves under his charge. You must paint some of our Thames views, Madge. You must paint one for me. By George! my uncle has got more mother wit in his little finger than I have in the whole of my body! Why didn't I give you a commission for a picture the first moment I knew you were an artist!"

"I shouldn't have accepted it," she said, smiling down at him. "But I'll paint you a picture, Blair; I will do it after I have finished this. Business must be attended to, you know, my lord."

He laughed.

"I wonder what he'll give you for that, Madge?" he said. "He ought to give you a hundred pounds. It's worth it. I'd give you a thousand if you'd let me."

"You'd ruin yourself, we all know," she said lightly, scarcely paying any heed to what she said, then as she saw him wince she dropped her brush and put her arm round his neck penitently.

"Oh, Blair, I meant nothing!" she murmured.

"I know, I know, dearest!" he said gravely. "But your light words reminded me of the fool I have been. But that is all altered now. Do you know that I have not made a single bet since—since you gave yourself to me? No! And I'm living as steady an existence as that man who always went home to tea. Austin says it won't and can't last; but we shall see."

It was always Austin. Scarcely ten sentences without his name cropping up.

"I don't see why Mr. Ambrose should discourage you, Blair," she said, smiling. "But you can prove him in the wrong all the more triumphantly," she added.

He laughed as he kissed her, telling her that she was his good angel, and that while she would continue to love him he was all right; but when he had gone, and she sat listening to his departing footsteps, she pondered over Austin Ambrose's words.

The next two days she worked hard at her picture, and on the third day finished it.

"What shall I do, grandma?" she said to Mrs. Hale. "I am going to London to-morrow, you know. Shall I send the picture from there, or give it to Mr. Stibbings to take to his lordship?"

"Give it to Mr. Stibbings," said Mrs. Hale, "with your dutiful respects and compliments, my dear."

Margaret gave the picture to Mr. Stibbings, but with her compliments only, and presently that important functionary returned.

Would Miss Hale honor the earl by joining him in the picture gallery?

Margaret went at once, and found him standing before her picture, which he had caused to be placed on an easel in the best lighted part of the gallery.

He held out his hand, and bowed to her with a kindly smile.

"You have painted a beautiful little sketch for me, Miss Hale," he said. "One I shall often look upon with pleasure and delight. And you have done it quickly, too, but not carelessly—no, no!"

Margaret murmured a few words in acknowledgment of his graciousness, and he went on:

"There is a career before you, my dear Miss Hale! You are one of the fortunate ones of this earth! Great gifts—great gifts"—and he looked at her absently; then he sighed and roused himself again—"but don't waste them, my child! I hope you are enjoying yourself here?"

"Very much, my lord," said Margaret. "I leave to-morrow," and she sighed faintly.

"To-morrow! So soon?" he said. "And you go back to London? I hope you will pay the Court another visit soon! I must speak to Mrs. Hale concerning it! Will you wait a moment or two?" and he drew a chair forward before he left the gallery.

Margaret sat and waited. How happy she had been! and yet if he only knew the cause of her happiness! If he could but guess that it was because she had won the love of his nephew, the Viscount Leyton.

She felt guilty and ill at ease, and when he returned, and approaching her with a smile, pressed some bank-notes into her hand, she began to tremble, and the tears rushed to her eyes.

"No thanks, my dear," he said. "Tut, tut! You must not wear your heart upon your sleeve, or daws will peck at it. You have no cause for gratitude; it is I who should and do feel grateful to you. Good-bye. May Heaven watch over you and make you happy, my dear!" It was almost like a benediction, for he half raised his white hand over her head.

When Margaret looked up he had gone.

She turned away, and the tears were still in her eyes as she opened the folded notes and looked at them. They represented a hundred pounds.

Mrs. Hale was quite overwhelmed.

"Well!" she exclaimed. "Gracious goodness!—a hundred pounds! Well, Margaret, my dear, I don't think you have any cause to regret your visit to your poor old grandmother. It hasn't been altogether a waste of time, now, has it?"

"No," said Margaret; "no, indeed, dear!" but even as she kissed the old lady and hid her face on her ample bosom, the same guilty feeling assailed her as that which had come upon her under the earl's generosity.

On the morrow she returned to London, but she had not to walk as she had done in coming. The earl had given orders that a brougham should be in attendance, and she started with a footman to open the door, and another to place her modest portmanteau on the roof, while the coachman touched his hat.

"Good-bye, grandma!" she said brokenly, as she clung to the old lady.

"Good-bye, Margaret, my dear! You will come again, and as soon as you can?"

"Yes," said Margaret, a lump rising in her throat. "Yes, I will come again—and soon."

But man proposes, and Providence disposes!

It was hot in London, and Margaret found her fellow-lodgers were away in the country, so that she had the rooms to herself.

She was thankful for their absence, for she would have shrunk from their affectionately close questioning, and they might have worried some hint of her secret from her.

An hour after her return a telegram arrived.

"Will you meet me at Waterloo at two o'clock? We will go up the river."

It was not signed, but Margaret knew that it was from Blair. Should she go?

She lay awake a long time that night asking herself the question, but at two o'clock the next day she found herself at Waterloo, and Austin Ambrose came up and raised his hat.

"You did not expect me?" he said with a smile, as her color rose.

"I—I thought——"

"It would be Blair," he finished smoothly. "He is not far off. He will join us at Clapham Junction. He wanted to come and meet you here, but I persuaded him to let me come instead. You know how prudent I am. A dozen people on the platform might chance to see him and recognize him and talk, while I—well nobody feels enough interest in me to care where I went," and he laughed.

"It is better so, and it is very kind of you," said Margaret.

"I am all kindness," he said, smiling. He put her into a first-class carriage, and Margaret saw his hand in close contact with the guards, and heard the lock turned.

"May I say that you are looking very well, Miss Margaret?" he said, leaning forward and looking at her with respectful and friendly admiration.

Margaret laughed.

"Did you take all this trouble to pay me compliments, Mr. Ambrose?"

"No," he said, with sudden gravity, but still smiling, "I came for prudence' sake, and because I wanted to speak to you. And I have so few minutes that I must get to the point at once. Miss Margaret, are you going to be good to Blair and marry him?"

Margaret flushed, then grew pale.

"Some day," she said, trying to speak lightly.

"Some day is no day," he returned. "Miss Margaret, you know, I hope and trust, that I am your friend?"

Margaret inclined her head.

"It is as your friend and his that I venture to beg you to make him the happiest man in the world as soon as possible."

Margaret remained silent; her hand trembled as she touched the window-strap.

"Why—why should it be soon?" she faltered. "It seems only a few days since—since——"

"It is some weeks," he said, quietly and impressively. "But, indeed, if it were only a few days, I would say the same. Miss Margaret, I can scarcely tell you all the reasons I have for pressing this upon you, and I would not do it, but that I know Blair is too—well—shy to do it altogether for himself. A simple 'no' from you silenced him! He told me, you see, that he spoke to you when he was down at the Court last."

"He tells you everything!" Margaret could not help saying.

"Do not be jealous!" he said; "if he does, it is because he knows that all that interests him interests me, and that I have his welfare at heart."

"Forgive me," she said, in a low voice. "Yes, he did speak to me."

"And he did not tell you the reasons? His, of course, are that he cannot be completely happy until you give him the right to call you his. But mine are as strong, I think! Miss Margaret, my friend's love for you has changed him; has made a better and a nobler man of him! Will you run the risk of that change deteriorating? Can you not guess something of the temptations which assail a man in Blair's position? Don't you apprehend that shadows from the past may arise, that—I will say no more! Complete the good work you have begun! Place him beyond the weak and wicked past in the harbor of your love. If Blair asks you to marry him early next month, Miss Margaret, I beseech you do not refuse!"

Margaret sat pale and trembling.

"Do not answer now," he said. "You shall tell him. I will only say this, that, if you will let me, I will remain your friend all through. I will see that all the arrangements are made, and that the whole thing is kept perfectly secret. You shall please yourself how soon you declare the marriage, but I should advise, strongly advise that you wait for a favorable opportunity." He was too wise to say, "Till the earl is dead!"

The train stopped at Clapham, and as Blair came hurrying up to the window, Austin Ambrose jumped out.

"Go and enjoy yourselves," he said, with a pleasant smile, and shaking his head to a request that he would accompany them. "Two are company, and three are none. Good-bye, Miss Margaret—and remember," he added, in a low voice.

Margaret did remember. All the afternoon, the happy afternoon, as she sat opposite Blair as he rowed up the beautiful reaches of the Thames, she thought of Austin Ambrose's words, and so it happened that when, later on, they were sitting under the trees, on an island that glowed like an emerald in the middle of the silver stream, he bent over her and murmured:

"Madge, will you marry me next month?" she placed her hand in his and answered:

"Yes!"