Alexander Sorell arrived early, and found Constance in a white dress strolling up and down the lawn under a scarlet parasol and surrounded by a group of men with whom she had made acquaintance on the Christ Church barge.

She received him with a pleasure, an effusion, which made a modest man blush.
"This is nice of you!--I wondered whether you'd come!" "I thought you'd seen too much of me this week already!" he said, smiling--"but I wanted to arrange with you when I might take you to call on the Master of Beaumont.

To-morrow ?" "I shall be plucked, you'll see! You'll be ashamed of me." "I'll take my chance.

To-morrow then, at four o'clock before chapel ?" Constance nodded--"Delighted!"-- and was then torn from him by her uncle, who had fresh comers to introduce to her.

But Sorell was quite content to watch her from a distance, or to sit talking in a corner with Nora, whom he regarded as a child,--"a jolly, clever, little thing!"-- while his mind was full of Constance.
The mere sight of her--the slim willowy creature, with her distinguished head and her beautiful eyes--revived in him the memory of some of his happiest and most sacred hours.