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will end in Mr. Cope’s asking you flatly about the past, and your being compelled to tell him, which may dash all my hopes for Frances. She geta more and more like you every day, particularly when she is in a bad temper. People will see you together and notice it, and I don't know what may come of it !”

“I don’t think they will see us together,” he said; but he entered into no argument when she insisted otherwise. The removal was eventually resolved on; the town - house was disposed of, and again came the invasion by furniture-men and vans, till all the movables and servants were whisked away. He sent his wife and danghter to a hotel while this was going on, taking two or three journeys himself to Ivell to superintend the refixing, and the improvement of the grounds. When all was done he returned to them in town.

The honse was ready for their reception, he told them, and there only remained the journey. He accompanied them and their personal luggage to the station only, having, he said, to remain in town a short time on businesa with his lawyer. They went, dubious and discontented, for the much-loved Cope had made no sign,

“If we were going down to live here alone,” said Mrs. Millborne to her daughter in the train; “and there waa no intrusive telltale presence! But let it be!”

The house was a lovely little place in a grove of elms, and they liked it much. The first person to call upon them as new residents was Mr. Cope. He was delighted to find that they had come so near, and (though he did not say this) meant to live in such excellent atyle. He had not, however, resumed the manner of a lover.

“Your father spoils all!” murmured Mrs, Millborne.