utterance. She could not mistake the tone of genuine feeling, and
she overlooked the breach of taste that followed; treasured up the
heart-saying as one of the few souvenirs she cared to preserve of
his courtship.

"If he is content, I need not be miserable," was the consolatory
reflection with which she took upon herself her new and binding
obligations.






CHAPTER VIII.

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW.





MRS. AYLETT was in her best feather that night; the suave
chatelaine, the dutiful consort; the tactful warder of the
interesting pair whose movements she had not ceased to watch from
the moment they took their places with the party about the
fire-place in the hall until she, alone of all the company, saw
Herbert Dorrance draw the diamond signet from its receptacle, and
the sparkle of the jewel as it slipped to its abiding-place upon
Mabel's finger.