Mindful that a premature engagement might lead to gossip, Montrose and his beloved acted with great discretion. They gave vent to their ardent feelings in private, and behaved prudently in public. Certainly the young man paid many visits to Mrs. Barrast's house, and was markedly attentive to her visitor. But it was natural that a bachelor should admire a pretty maid, so people merely remarked indulgently that evidently Montrose was falling in love with Miss Enistor. They little knew that the inevitable had already happened, and in a scandalously short space of time. Mrs. Barrast, with a shrewdness which did her credit, guessed that the couple understood one another better than they would admit; but even she did not guess how far matters had gone. She would have been annoyed had she really known the truth, not because of the private engagement, but for the simple reason that she had not been admitted into the confidence of the lovers. As it was, all she saw led her to believe that Montrose was conventionally approaching her guest with a view to marriage, and quite approved of his intentions. Therefore she welcomed him to the house, and made use of him and his money. It was only right, she thought, that he should pay for her kindness in forwarding his aims.

And the payment took the form of Mrs. Barrast plundering Montrose on all and every occasion. Frederick supplied her with ample funds for her frivolity, but Mrs. Barrast always wanted more than she could reasonably obtain, and cleverly got what she desired from Douglas. As both lovers were in deep mourning for Lady Staunton, the aunt of one and the benefactress of the other, they did not take much part in the gaieties of the waning season. All the same, Mrs. Barrast made Montrose give her concert tickets and boxes at theatres, which she used freely for herself and her friends. And as on these occasions she usually left Alice to entertain the donor in the Hans Crescent house, the young man was quite willing to be lavish in this direction. Indeed, he was in others also, for he supplied the butterfly with flowers and scent and gloves and similar trifles, which every woman likes to have and which no woman likes to pay for. Alice did not object at the outset to this generosity, as it was necessary to keep Mrs. Barrast in a good temper; but in the end she protested against such wholesale robbery.

"You will ruin Mr. Montrose if you take everything he gives you," she said to Amy, two weeks after that momentous agreement in Kensington Gardens.

"Oh, nonsense!" replied Mrs. Barrast airily. "The man has got more money than he knows what to do with. It's a man's duty to be agreeable. But of course, dear, if you are jealous——"

"I—jealous?"

Mrs. Barrast shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Well, my dear, it looks like it, you know. You needn't be if you are, I'm sure, for I can't marry him, and I have no intention of running away with the dear thing."

"He wouldn't run away with you if you wanted to," said Alice crossly, and could have bitten out her tongue for the speech.

"Really!" Mrs. Barrast tittered significantly. "Has it gone as far as that?"

"What do you mean?" Alice grew red.

"My dear! You are a woman talking to a woman, so there is no need for you to try and deceive me. You want to marry this charming young fellow!"

"I don't admit that, Amy."

"Whether you admit it or deny it, what I state is the case."

"You have no right to say so. I like Mr. Montrose. I admire him!"

"Words! Words! Words! You love him. Look at yourself in the glass, my dear. I think your colour tells the truth."

"What if it does?"

"Ah! Then you admit that I am right?"

Alice saw that it was useless to fence with Mrs. Barrast, who was much too clever to be deceived and far too dangerous to be tampered with. "Yes! I am in love with—Mr. Montrose."

"Why not say with Douglas?" tittered the little woman.

"Douglas, if it pleases you."

"My dear, the question is if it pleases you and—him. Am I blind?" asked Mrs. Barrast dramatically. "Am I a fool? Do you think that during the past three weeks I have left you and that nice boy together without guessing the truth ages and ages ago? I never ask for tickets. He gives them to me to get me out of the way, which"—ended the butterfly justly—"is not complimentary to me."

"I don't mind Mr.—well then, Douglas, giving you boxes at the theatres," said Alice petulantly; "but why take flowers and gloves and——"

"Because I want such things," retorted Mrs. Barrast coolly. "If you are foolish enough not to take presents from him, I don't see why I should not. But I am glad that we have come to an understanding, dear, as I wish to know if you are in earnest, or if you are merely flirting."

"And if I am flirting?"

"Then I think it's very horrid of you. He has a heart and hearts can be broken. I don't flirt myself," said Mrs. Barrast, uttering the lie with the greatest composure, "but if you are making a fool of that nice boy I shall take him off your hands and be a—a—well, a mother to him."

Alice laughed outright. "You are much too young and pretty to be a mother to any one, Amy!"

"That's right. Taunt me because I haven't any children. Frederick is always complaining, as if it was my fault, which I'm sure it isn't. But as to this flirting——"

"It isn't flirting. Douglas and I understand one another."

"Really. How sly you are! Has he said anything?"

"All that I wished him to say."

"Then he has proposed?"

"Yes!" Alice contented herself with the affirmative and did not trouble to give the date of the proposal. Mrs. Barrast understood that it had taken place within the last day or so, and even that displeased her.

"It's quite immoral for him to be so hasty," she exclaimed, because the idea of Montrose adoring Alice and not herself was annoying and hurt her vanity.

The girl smiled, wondering what her hostess would say if she knew that the proposal had been made three weeks previously. "He's in love, you see!"

"There is sense in all things, my dear. He has only known you a month."

"Of course! But love at first sight——"

"I don't believe in such a thing."

"Oh, Amy, what about Romeo and Juliet?"

"They are only things in a play. I don't think Juliet was at all respectable, and if she had lived in London instead of Verona, I should never have allowed her to visit me. Mr. Montrose should have behaved himself properly."

"What do you call proper behaviour on his part?"

"Well, he should have spoken to me first!"

"Douglas's idea of propriety differs from yours, Amy. He thought it was best to tell my father that he wished to marry me, before speaking to you."

"He could do no less," snapped Mrs. Barrast, still ruffled. "Has he written to Mr. Enistor?"

"Yes. Two days ago; but he has not yet received an answer. Nor have I, for I wrote to my father at the same time, asking him to consent to our engagement."

"Oh, he'll consent quick enough—your father, that is," sniffed the little woman. "He owes me a great deal for bringing back that lost money to the family. If he is nice—I suppose he is nice, though Julian doesn't like him at all—I expect he'll give me a bracelet, or a muff-chain, or a——"

"Do you really mean that?" interrupted Alice, opening her eyes very wide.

"Of course! Why shouldn't I mean what I say?"

"How rapacious you are, Amy."

"What a nasty word when I'm only sensible. What is the use of men if they don't give us things?"

"Douglas will give you all you want, dear. After all, you brought us together."

This diplomatic remark cleared the air and banished the frown from Mrs. Barrast's small-featured face. "Of course I did. I saw that you two were meant for each other the moment you set eyes on one another. I advised you to get back your aunt's money by marriage, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," admitted Miss Enistor dryly, not thinking it necessary to explain that she loved Montrose for himself alone. "What you said has come true, Amy. Douglas desires to make me his wife, if my father consents."

"Oh, bother your father," cried Mrs. Barrast vigorously. "What does his consent matter when you have hooked a rich man?"

"Don't be vulgar, Amy!" said Alice, wincing.

"And don't be romantic. You can't deceive me. Mr. Montrose is rich."

"I would marry him without a sixpence."

"So you will," rejoined Mrs. Barrast caustically. "He has the sixpence, remember. I am glad, dear: you have played your cards well. Frederick will be pleased. He likes Mr. Montrose immensely, and you a great deal."

"I am glad he does," said Alice soberly, "but don't say anything until we hear from my father, Amy!"

It was with some difficulty that Miss Enistor induced the little woman to be silent, for Mrs. Barrast was so immensely pleased with what she took to be her own cleverness in bringing the matter to a favourable issue that she wanted to trumpet the news all over the place. There was no word now of impropriety or hasty wooing, for Alice let the butterfly think that the match was quite of her own making, and the butterfly spread sheltering wings over the happy pair. She did not tell Frederick, and as Frederick was wholly occupied with politics he did not see what was going on under his very nose. But with many mysterious becks and smiles and significant looks, the little woman managed to intimate that she was the fairy godmother of these particular lovers, whose romance was rapidly progressing towards fulfilment. Thus she made everything safe in a respectable way for Montrose to be constantly invited to dinner, and to be left alone with Alice more frequently than would have met with public approval had he not been courting. The young man's gratitude showed itself substantially and took the form of several pieces of jewellery, which the guardian angel was pleased to accept. Everything went as merry as a marriage bell, pending the reply of Enistor to Montrose's letter. That came four days after Alice had remonstrated with Mrs. Barrast for her shameless looting.

Mr. Enistor had written not only to Montrose but to his daughter with regard to the proposal, and when the two came together on this particular evening, they let one another know immediately that the fatal missives had been received. Luckily Mrs. Barrast, with a merry party, had gone to the Empire Music Hall and would not return until late. Montrose, as usual, had provided the box, purposely having done so to rid himself of an inconvenient third. Frederick was at the House, so he could not interfere, and Douglas had Alice all to himself in the large drawing-room. Mrs. Barrast, for the sake of propriety, had made him promise to await her return and have supper. Therefore everything was nicely arranged, and when quite alone, the lovers sat together on the sofa and looked into one another's eyes.

"Now," said Alice breathlessly, "the letters!"

"Not just yet," replied Montrose, taking her in his arms, "remember I have not seen you for forty-eight hours!"

"Oh, you foolish boy!"

Alice had some excuse for calling him so, although she liked the foolishness he displayed immensely. He dropped on his knees, holding her waist in his arms, and said all manner of delightful things, only interrupting his speeches to kiss her again and again and again. What he babbled need not be reported, as the talk of lovers, however pleasing to themselves, is extraordinarily silly when repeated to others. But the splendid glamour of love was over this pair, and what Douglas said sounded sublimely sensible to the girl, while the looks of Alice were those of a goddess to her adorer. Yet Montrose was a common-sense young man, and Miss Enistor only a tolerably pretty girl. The misleading passion of love excused each regarding the other as a divinity. They certainly did so and were as foolishly happy as Antony and Cleopatra were in their day of power. And like those famous lovers they would have regarded the world as well lost for love.

"But really!" cried Alice at last, recovering her reason first, which was natural since she was a woman, "we must be sensible."

"I think we are very sensible indeed."

"Other people would not think so."

"Why trouble about other people?" replied Montrose, reluctantly getting on his feet. "There are no other people. You and I are alone in the world."

"Indeed, I think we shall be unless my father consents," sighed Miss Enistor. "Not that there will be any loneliness with you beside me," she added.

"Darling!" Then another kiss and embrace before settling down to more prosaic conversation. "Tell me, dear, what does he say to you?"

"Much the same as he writes to you, Douglas, I expect." Alice took the letter from her pocket. "He is not angry as I expected he would be, and says nothing about Don Pablo. All he desires—so he says—is my happiness, and if he approves of you he is quite willing that we should marry."

"If he approves of me," echoed Montrose, reading the paternal letter over Alice's shoulder, "quite so. But suppose he doesn't approve?"

"Don't try to cross the bridge until you come to it, Douglas. Why shouldn't my father approve, now that he evidently has given up his idea of my marrying Don Pablo? Has my father asked you down to Tremore?"

"Yes!" said Montrose, producing his letter in turn, "how clever of you to guess that, dearest."

"I did not guess it, as you might have seen if you read my father's letter properly," said Alice quickly. "He says that he has asked you down, or intends to ask you down. I don't know which."

"Oh, here is the invitation," remarked the young man, waving his letter. "Mr. Enistor says that before he can consent to place your future in my hands he must become well acquainted with me. He invites me to Tremore for a visit of one month. In four weeks he hopes to give his decision."

Alice disconsolately replaced her epistle in her pocket and watched her lover put away his communication. "That doesn't sound very promising."

"Oh, but I think it does," said Montrose hopefully. "I don't see what else he could say if he entertains at all the idea of my marrying you. It is only natural that he should wish to know what kind of a husband I am likely to be to his adored daughter."

"Oh!" said Alice ironically, "does my father call me that?"

"Twice he calls you that in his letter."

"He doesn't mean it," the girl assured Montrose in a troubled way; "my father and I endure one another's society, but little love exists between us. The fault isn't mine, Douglas, as I was willing enough to love him when I came from school. But father has always kept me at arm's length, and hitherto my life has been loveless—save for Julian."

"Julian!" There was a jealous note in the young man's voice. "That is the name of Mrs. Barrast's brother, is it not?"

"Yes. I call him Julian and he calls me Alice."

"Confound his impudence!" fumed Montrose angrily.

"No impudence at all, Douglas. Julian is my very good friend: nothing more, I assure you. But if I had not met you, and if my father had insisted upon my becoming Don Pablo's wife, I should have married Julian."

"Oh, Alice," in a tone of deep reproach, "do you love him and not me?"

"No. I respect him. If I loved him you would not now be sitting beside me."

Still Montrose was not satisfied. "Is he good-looking?"

"Very; in a large stolid Anglo-Saxon way. He's an artist, but I don't think one would call him clever except as a painter of pictures."

"I see that you don't love him," said Douglas, his brow clearing; "but does Hardwick—that is his name, isn't it?—love you?"

"No," rejoined Alice promptly, "he thought that he did, but he really does not in the way a woman wants to be loved. He proposed and I rejected him on those grounds. Now he understands that I am right, and we have settled to be great friends."

"All the same you said you would have married him if——"

"If my father had insisted on my becoming the wife of Don Pablo," interrupted Alice swiftly. "Can't you understand, Douglas? I detest this Spaniard, who is such a friend of my father, and of two evils I was prepared to choose the lesser. I did not want to marry Julian any more than I wanted to marry Don Pablo. But Julian is at least human, so——"

"Isn't Don Pablo human?" asked Montrose, interrupting in his turn.

"I don't believe he is," said Alice thoughtfully, "there is something dreadfully wicked about him. I can't explain, but when you meet him you will in some way guess my meaning."

"Humph! I shall certainly accept your father's invitation both to see this Spaniard and Hardwick also."

"And you understand my position?" urged Alice anxiously.

"Yes. I think I do. All the same I want you to assure me positively that you love no one else but me."

"There is no need to tell you what you already know," returned the girl in a calm positive way. "We are made for one another!"

"Darling!" he caught her in his arms, "I know. But I hope your father will think as we do."

"He means well," said Miss Enistor with a sigh of relief, "or he would not ask you down to Tremore."

It was at this interesting point in their interview that the lovers were interrupted. The footman opened the door to announce Dr. Eberstein, and when that gentleman entered the room the servant promptly retired. Montrose came forward with a look of amazed inquiry, which was reflected on the face of Alice. Both the young people were astonished by the unexpected appearance of the doctor.

"I thought you were still in Paris, Eberstein," cried Douglas, as his friend shook hands with both.

"I arrived in London to-day!"

"Why didn't you let me know?"

"There was no need to. It was necessary that you should quite understand one another before I came on the scene." Eberstein looked from one flushed face to the other with a smile. "You do understand, I see."

"We are engaged," blurted out Montrose awkwardly.

"Then that means an understanding," said the doctor cheerfully, with a benevolent look in his grey eyes. "I hope it means also mutual trust."

"I am quite sure it does," cried Alice vehemently, "nothing Douglas could say or do would ever make me doubt him."

"And I would believe in Alice if all the world were against her," said the young man decisively.

"That is good hearing," observed the doctor pleasantly, "union is strength."

"Every one knows that, don't they, doctor?" said Miss Enistor rather pertly.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but few practise it. You wonder why I have come here to-night. It is because you both need me. All seems to be sunshine at the present moment. You love one another devotedly: you think that Mr. Enistor is well disposed towards your engagement——"

"Oh!" interrupted Alice, with a frightened look in her eyes. "How do you know that my father is aware of our engagement?"

"The letters you received to-day——"

This time Montrose interrupted, and there was a note of awe in his voice. "I believe you know everything, Eberstein."

"I know that you are invited down to Cornwall, so that Mr. Enistor may judge if you are the man he would choose to be his son-in-law."

"But how do you know?" said Alice, startled. "You make me afraid!"

Eberstein took her hand and gazed directly into her eyes. "Are you sure that I make you afraid?" he asked gently.

"Why, no!" Alice felt the momentary fear vanish in an unaccountable way.

"And you trust me even though you have known me such a short time? Remember, you have only met me once, Miss Enistor." He loosened his soft, reassuring grasp and leaned back in his chair.

"I do trust you," said the girl promptly, "you have been kind to Douglas."

"Is that the sole reason?"

Alice stared at him doubtfully. "It is the only reason I can give. No one but a good man and a kind friend would have saved Douglas's life as you did."

"Perhaps no, perhaps yes," said the doctor enigmatically, "but I advised our friend here to keep Lady Staunton's money. My interest in him may not be so philanthropic as you imagine it to be."

"Doctor!" said Montrose indignantly, "how can you talk so?"

"Hush!" Eberstein threw up his hand. "I want Miss Enistor to speak."

"What can I say but that I trust you? I am sure there is some good reason why Douglas should keep my aunt's money. You would not have advised him to keep it otherwise."

"But if your father pointed out that he should have enjoyed the fortune and that I wish Montrose to keep it so that I can make use of the money through him? What then?"

"Still I must believe in you and trust you," persisted Alice steadily. "My father does not want the fortune." Eberstein smiled slightly. "Oh, I assure you he does not. He has said nothing about it. As to doubting you, doctor, he does not know you."

"He will some day and then he may doubt me. Remember when he does and tries to turn you against me that I have foretold the possibility of such a warning. You say you will trust me. Good! I accept the assurance. Montrose?"

"I believe in you now as I always have done," said the young man eagerly. "I don't understand why you are talking in this way, though."

"You don't understand many things at present," said Eberstein dryly; "when you do, pain will come with the knowledge. Necessary pain. Go to Cornwall and meet Mr. Enistor. While the sun still shines you will not see me. But when dark clouds obscure the light, then I shall be at your side."

"You will come to Cornwall?" asked Alice quickly.

"When the need arises."

"Will it arise?"

Eberstein looked from one to the other quietly. "Yes! The need will arise."

"What need?" demanded Montrose, bewildered.

"Enough for the day is the evil thereof," said Eberstein serenely, "and that also applies to the good. All is well with you as yet, so enjoy the passing moment and draw from peace the necessary strength for conflict. Gold must be refined in the fire, and you must both be cast into the furnace. Yet be not afraid. The same God who saved Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego will save you. You are neither of you afraid," he ended positively.

Arm in arm the lovers stood and they glanced at one another as the doctor spoke. "We are not afraid," they declared simultaneously, and spoke the truth.

"Behold then," said Eberstein solemnly, "how great is Love which can cast out fear!" and over them he made the holy sign.