"I hardly know how to tell the miserable story," went on the letter,
"but as it must be told I suppose I had better begin from the beginning.
A month ago I went with my father and my aunt to the Hunt Ball at
Atherton, and there I met Sir Alfred Croston, a middle-aged gentleman,
who danced with me several times. I did not care about him much, but
he made himself very agreeable, and when I got home aunt--you know her
nasty way--congratulated me on my conquest. Well, next day he came
to call, and papa asked him to stop to dinner, and he took me in, and
before he went away he told me that he was coming to stop at the George
Inn to fish for trout in the lake. After that he came here every day,
and whenever I went out walking he always met me, and really was kind
and nice. At last one day he asked me to marry him, and I was very angry
and told him that I was engaged to a gentleman in the army, who was in
South Africa. He laughed, and said South Africa was a long way off, and
I hated him for it. That evening papa and aunt set on me--you know they
neither of them liked our engagement--and told me that our affair was
perfectly silly, and that I must be mad to refuse such an offer. And so
it went on, for he would not take 'no' for an answer; and at last, dear,
I had to give in, for they gave me no peace, and papa implored me to
consent for his sake. He said the marriage would be the making of him,
and now I suppose I am engaged. Dear, dear George, don't be angry with
me, for it is not my fault, and I suppose after all we could not have
got married, for we have so little money. I do love you, but I can't
help myself. I hope you won't forget me, or marry anybody else--at
least, not just at present--for I cannot bear to think about it. Write
to me and tell me you won't forget me, and that you are not angry
with me. Do you want your letters back? If you burn mine that will do.
Good-bye, dear! If you only knew what I suffer! It is all very well to
talk like aunt does about settlements and diamonds, but they can't make