levity which seemed born of a need to conjure away the phantom of sentiment. And of this hostile need, of course, he hereupon strove to trace the lineage. He talked with her little, as yet, and never interfered in her talk with others; but he watched her devotedly from corners, and caught her words through the hum of voices. Sometimes she looked at him as if she were on the point of telling him something. What had she to tell him? In trying to guess, Roger made up his mind that she was in love. Search as he could, however, he was unable to find her lover. It was no one there present; they were all alike wasting their shot; the enemy had stolen a march and was hidden in the very heart of the citadel. He appealed distractedly to Mrs. Keith. "Lovesick,—lovesick is the word," he groaned. "I have read of it all my days in the poets, but here it is in the flesh. The poor girl plays her part well; she's wound up tight; but the spring will snap and the watch run down. D—n the man! I would rather he carried her off than sit and see this." He saw that his friend had bad news. "Tell me everything," he said; "don't spare me."
"You have noticed it at last," she answered. "I was afraid you would. Well! he 's not far to seek. Think it over; can't you guess? My dear Mr. Lawrence, you are celestially simple. Your cousin Hubert is not."
"Hubert!" Roger echoed, staring. A spasm passed over his face; his eyes flashed. At last he hung his head. "Dear, dear," he said; "have I done it all for Hubert?"
"Not if I can help it!" cried Mrs. Keith, sharply. "She may not marry you; but, at the worst, she shall not marry him!"
