"Lucy," cried her lover indignantly.

"Well, I was only pitying him. He's a nice man, and you can't
expect him to be pleased at our marriage."

"Perhaps," said Hope in an icy tone, "you would like him to be
the bridegroom. If so, there is still time."

"Silly boy!" She took his arm. "As I have been bought, you know
that I can't run away from my purchaser."

"You denied being bought just now. It seems to me, Lucy, that I
am to marry a weather-cock."

"That is only an impolite name for a woman, dear. You have no
sense of humor, Frank, or you would call me an April lady."

"Because you change every five minutes. H'm! It's puzzling."

"Is it? Perhaps you would like me to resemble Widow Anne, who is
always funereal. Here she is, looking like Niobe."

They were strolling through Gartley village by this time, and the
cottagers came to their doors and front gates to look at the
handsome young couple. Everyone knew of the engagement, and
approved of the same, although some hinted that Lucy Kendal would
have been wiser to marry the soldier-baronet. Amongst these was
Widow Anne, who really was Mrs. Bolton, the mother of Sidney, a
dismal female invariably arrayed in rusty, stuffy, aggressive