TEDDY DARRELL'S PLANS.

Teddy Darrell kept his promise to Kathleen. He took her immediately to the home of his cousin, a widow lady of about thirty-eight years—a woman of good circumstances and social standing, but whose divided devotion to two pretty children and literary pursuits caused her to live a very retired life.

Mrs. Stone must have been very fond of her cousin Teddy, for she accepted his story of the finding of Kathleen in good faith, and made the young girl welcome to her luxurious home. She saw that the hapless girl was nearly fainting with fatigue, and leaving Teddy alone in the pretty library, carried her off to bed, after first coaxing her to take some tea and toast.

"Bless you, my dear, your name has been a familiar one in this household for more than a year. Teddy was so madly in love with you once that he could talk of nothing else but Kathleen Carew whenever he came. Even the children knew all about it!"

Kathleen blushed at receiving so much kindness from Teddy's cousin, after having rejected him, so to clear herself she said:

"But he got over it directly. Helen Fox told me he proposed to her the week afterward."

Mrs. Stone, who was warming a dainty lace-ruffled night-gown before the fire for her guest, threw her head back and laughed heartily.

"Teddy Darrell is the worst flirt in Boston! Actually, Miss Carew, I've known that boy to be engaged to three girls at the same time!" she exclaimed, merrily.

"I suppose he can never be really in earnest," said the young girl.

Then Mrs. Stone replied, more seriously:

"I have never known him to be in earnest but once, and I have been his confidante, I believe, in all of his love affairs. He has had many fancies, but he never really loved any one but you, my dear girl."

Kathleen did not know what to say to this, and the lady rattled on:

"Well, Teddy is a good catch, if I do say it myself, for he is a real good boy, and very rich. His wife, if he ever gets one, will have a happy life; and I hope he will soon marry, for that would cure him of his little fads."

"Fads?" observed Kathleen, inquiringly.

"Yes," replied her new friend; "he is full of them. Some time ago it was to be an author, and I believe he wrote up whole reams of foolscap in the six weeks while the fever lasted. He came here every day, bringing dozens of pages of the thrilling romance over which he had been wasting the midnight oil. Finally he sent it off to a publisher, and a prompt rejection cooled his ardor. Now his fad is to be an actor."

"An actor?" Kathleen exclaimed.

Her thoughts flew with exquisite pain to Ralph Chainey—so beloved and so false!

"He has been stage-struck ever since he saw Ralph Chainey act last winter," continued the communicative hostess. "He tells me now that he is studying to go upon the stage, but I'm sure he will fail. He will certainly have stage-fright."

"I hope not," answered Kathleen; and then the gentle lady tucked her kindly into bed as if she had been a little child.

"Good-night, my dear," she said, with a kiss, and then she went away, saying she must go down-stairs and see Teddy Darrell.

He was waiting for her alone. The children who had been amusing him, had gone off to bed, and he settled himself for a long, confidential chat.

From his talk she soon learned that his love of a year ago for bonny Kathleen had revived with fuller intensity than ever.

"Cousin Carrie, I'm bound to marry that girl!" he exclaimed, with sparkling eyes.

"But she rejected you last winter, Teddy."

"I know; but everything is different now. She was a belle and heiress then; now she is poor, and friendless but for us. When she learns that I love her in spite of her changed position, and that I want to marry her as soon as she will have me, she will be touched by the romance of the affair, and—now don't laugh so, Cousin Carrie—it is romantic, is it not, my devotion?"

"Certainly," she agreed, merrily; then added: "But I'm afraid you will find it hard to convince her of your devotion; for she told me when I spoke of it just now that you had proposed to Helen Fox the very week after she rejected you."

Teddy made a grimace.

"Oh, that was all fun, and I think it was very shabby in Helen telling all the other girls about it. Of course, I only wanted the engagement for a few weeks, then to pique her and get discarded, as I've done with other, girls," he said, carelessly, having a very elastic conscience in matters of love.

But he added, rather lugubriously:

"But I'm in earnest, Carrie, with Kathleen Carew. Positively, she is the only girl I ever loved in my life—that is, real, sure enough love—and it will break my heart if I don't get her for my wife."

"You didn't break your heart when you believed that she was dead," his cousin reminded him, cynically.

"Oh, that's different!" he replied, vaguely. "I've set my heart on getting her now, and I could never get over it, if I failed. Look here, Cousin Carrie," leaning toward her, his bright, dark eyes full of tender pleading, "help me, won't you? Speak a good word for me to her. I'm not such a bad sort, am I?" wheedlingly. "I would make a nice young girl a good husband, wouldn't I, now?"

"Yes, Teddy, I believe you would."

"Then help me, won't you? It's not selfish in me, is it, to want to marry this poor girl who has been so strangely despoiled of home and fortune, and make up to her for all her cruel loss?"

He was deeply, romantically in earnest, and Mrs. Stone could not help admiring his nobility.

"No, Teddy, it's not selfish, for you are a good match, and I'll help you with sweet Kathleen, if I can. I used to be called a good match-maker in other days when I went more into society, and I'll exert my powers now for your benefit."

"Thank you over and over!" he exclaimed, fervently.

Thus in two homes in Boston plans were being made to keep Ralph Chainey and Kathleen apart. Teddy Darrell meant to marry his old sweetheart, if she was to be won, and Alpine Belmont was scheming to marry Ralph. These two hearts, that had gone out so tenderly in love to each other, seemed but footballs of fate, tossed relentlessly hither and thither. Well might Kathleen, tossing restlessly on her soft bed, wet the pillow with bitter, burning tears for her lost love—her false love, as she believed.