Though Miss Webster had acceded to May’s request, and addressed her letter to John Temple, she did not entirely forget the incident. In fact, it remained on her mind, and she began to believe there was something much more serious between John and May than mere cousinship.

May’s manner, too, had been very serious when she had said that some day she would know there was nothing wrong between herself and John. Miss Webster, in fact, began to believe that there was a secret engagement between them, and this belief disturbed her, because she was getting anxious about her nephew, Ralph Webster.

She did not know what made her think so, but still she did think that Ralph was becoming very much attached to their young guest. May was such a pretty girl, and he was constantly thrown with her, so after all it was only natural. Another thing, Ralph, who had been so eager about his vacation holiday before May’s arrival, now seemed to have forgotten its existence.

Little things do not escape eyes sharpened by real affection, and one evening shortly after she had addressed May’s letter to John Temple, Miss Webster found the “young people,” as she called them, together at the piano in the drawing-room, May playing and Ralph Webster, with violin on shoulder, performing a very fair accompaniment to May’s music. True, Aunt Eliza was also present, industriously knitting a violet silk sock for her nephew Ralph, but still Miss Webster felt uneasy. And presently when they paused they both laughed good-naturedly, and Ralph looked around and jokingly asked for applause.

“Aunt Margaret, Aunt Eliza, why don’t you clap your hands?” he said. “I have never touched the violin since I was a boy at school until I persuaded Miss Churchill just now to allow me to try to accompany her. And don’t you think it was lovely?”

“I think it was lovely,” laughed May Churchill.

“It seemed very nice, my dears,” answered Aunt Margaret, gravely.

“Very nice,” sighed Aunt Eliza, mildly.

“To call anything ‘very nice’ is an insult, I consider,” went on Ralph Webster, with a laugh. “It means you don’t admire my performance, but that at the same time you do not wish to hurt my feelings. Pretty girls are told they look ‘very nice’ by jealous sisters and rivals, and there is no warmth in such an opinion! Never mind, Miss Churchill, see if we can’t do better next time—what have you here?”

He stooped down and began to turn over May’s music as he spoke, asking for this piece or that. But May naturally had no great assortment, as she had brought no music with her, and all she possessed was what she had bought in town since her arrival.

She turned round on the music-stool, however, and bent down to assist Webster in his search, and as she did so for a moment, partly by accident, he laid his hand on hers. It was only a touch, but Aunt Margaret, watching them, saw a glow, a sudden light gleam in Ralph Webster’s eyes, and a flush rise to his somewhat sunken cheeks. Then, she looked at the girl’s fair face, but it was calm and placid as a summer’s day. She had scarcely noticed the touch that had thrilled through his strong frame. Aunt Margaret fidgeted in her seat; she was one of those quiet women who we forget have once been young; forget that they too have had their deep joys, their silent sorrows, their withered hopes. Yet with Margaret Webster this had been so, and there was a green grave in a distant country churchyard, where the one she had loved best lay still in his unbroken sleep. Only a common story, but it made Margaret Webster understand the glow on her nephew’s cheeks, and the unruffled pale pink bloom on May’s. The man loved and the girl was indifferent, and Miss Webster’s gentle heart shrank from the probable pain that Ralph Webster would endure.

The idea nerved her to take some action. She waited till May and Aunt Eliza also had retired for the night, and while her nephew went on with his pipe she suddenly broached the subject of his holiday.

“Are you not going away at all this year, Ralph?” she asked, “for you see September is drawing to a close.”

Ralph drew his pipe from his firm lips, and looked steadily at his aunt.

“Have you any motive for asking that, Aunt Margaret?” he said.

Miss Webster hesitated. Her faded cheeks flushed slightly; her thin hands moved uneasily.

“I think you have,” went on Ralph Webster.

“Well, Ralph, I have,” replied Miss Webster, with an effort. “You see Miss Churchill is still with us, and for the present likely to remain, and I am not quite easy in my mind about something. I know nothing, you know, my dear; but still something a little strange, I think, occurred the other day, and I think it better to tell you. You remember Mr. John Temple wrote to ask us to receive his young cousin for a short time? A fortnight, I think he said.”

Ralph Webster nodded his head; he was listening intently to his aunt’s words.

“We were only too happy to do this, both Eliza and myself,” continued Miss Webster. “We have both the greatest regard and friendship for Mr. John Temple; but the other day I got a letter from him inclosing one for May Churchill, which, of course, I at once gave her, and the same day May gave me a very large letter to inclose to Mr. John Temple. It seemed strange, did it not? As if there were some secret?”

Still Ralph did not speak. His dark, marked brows were knitted; he was evidently thinking deeply.

“And,” proceeded Miss Webster, “when I hesitated a little, just a little, about inclosing her letter to Mr. John Temple, May suddenly said, ‘I know all this must seem strange to you, Miss Webster, but some day you will understand it; some day you will know that neither John nor I are doing any wrong’—or words to that effect at least.”

“And you addressed the letter to Temple?” asked Ralph Webster, in a low, concentrated voice.

“Yes, my dear, I did. I addressed it to him at Woodlea Hall, and May went out and posted it herself—and—and, Ralph, I have considered it over, and I thought it best to tell you.”

Again Ralph Webster nodded his head.

“I understand,” he said, briefly.

“You see you have been a good deal thrown with her,” went on Miss Webster, apologetically, “and May is such a pretty girl—”

“You thought I might lose my heart to someone engaged to another man, eh, Aunt Margaret?” interrupted Ralph Webster, as his aunt paused, but though his lips smiled, there was a ring of pain in his voice. “Well, Aunt Margaret, perhaps I am safer away—thank you for the hint.”

“Good-night, my dear,” said Miss Webster, rising, and gently kissing his brow. But though she listened and waited long to hear the sound of Ralph’s footsteps also going to his room, she did not hear them. For it was morning, and Miss Webster was sleeping her placid sleep, when a pale, haggard-faced man stole quietly up the staircase, afraid to awaken the other inmates of the house.

Yet later in the day Ralph Webster went down to breakfast with no sign of any inward conflict on his resolute face. Perhaps he was a shade paler than usual, but that was all. His manner at least showed nothing. He talked in the same fashion to May as he had talked the night before, and to his aunts. But just when breakfast was over, he made a little announcement.

“Do you know, I am obliged to tear myself away to-day from your pleasant society,” he said, without addressing anyone in particular; “Bedford, a friend of mine, is starting to-day for a fortnight’s trip to Switzerland, and I proposed to go with him; I can not very well get off.”

“It will be a pleasant change, my dear,” said Aunt Margaret, in a faltering voice.

“Yes, very pleasant,” echoed Miss Eliza, in a disappointed tone.

“How you will enjoy it!” said May Churchill, heartily, looking frankly in his face.

“I hope so,” answered Ralph Webster. “Shall I bring you some edelweiss?”

“Oh, yes, do; bring us all some,” replied May, brightly.

“The ice-flower,” said Ralph Webster, slowly, with his deep, serious eyes fixed on her face. But the next moment he roused himself and held out his hand.

“Well, good-by, Miss Churchill; I suppose I shall find you here on my return?”

“I suppose so,” said May, and a slight fluttering blush rose to her smooth cheeks.

Then Webster took leave of his two aunts, who followed him to the street door, and waited until the cab he whistled for arrived. But just before he left the room he looked back at May; there was a look on her face as if she were thinking of something, but Webster felt vaguely it was not of him.

“I am better away,” he thought, as he seated himself in the cab and waved his hand to his aunts. But all the same he sighed deeply as he lost sight of Pembridge Terrace.

And the week after he was gone seemed very quiet without him to the three ladies there. His comings and goings had made a little stir each day, and he had brought in the news, and it certainly was not so lovely as before. Miss Eliza, however, found consolation in gazing into the shop windows down Westbourne Grove, and Miss Webster in her household duties. And just ten days after he left, news came to May which filled her whole being with excitement.

It was contained in a letter from John Temple; a letter duly forwarded under cover to Miss Webster, and placed in May’s hand by that lady with a little tremulous sigh. But five minutes after she had received it May returned to the room with a face beaming with joy, and cheeks covered with blushes.

“Oh, Miss Webster!” she cried, and ran up impetuously and kissed that kind lady; “John is coming! He is coming to-morrow; there is only one more day to wait, and he will be here!”