"Why, your least wish--" the young man began--then checked himself hastily--"must be always important," he went on, in a different voice, "to everyone of your acquaintance." Daphne rose hurriedly. "Look here, Hilda," she said, a little tremulously, biting her lip, "I have to go out into Westbourne Grove to get those gloves for to-night, and a spray for my hair; will you excuse me for half an hour?" Holsworthy rose too. "Mayn't I go with you?" he asked, eagerly. "Oh, if you like. How very kind of you!" Daphne answered, her cheek a blush rose. "Hubert, will you come too? and you, Hilda?" It was one of those invitations which are given to be refused. I did not need Hilda's warning glance to tell me that my company would be quite superfluous. I felt those two were best left together. "It's no use, though, Dr. Cumberledge!" Hilda put in, as soon as they were gone. "He WON'T propose, though he has had every encouragement. I don't know what's the matter; but I've been watching them both for weeks, and somehow things seem never to get any forwarder." "You think he's in love with her?" I asked. "In love with her! Well, you have eyes in your head, I know; where could they have been looking? He's madly in love--a very good kind of love, too. He genuinely admires and respects and appreciates all Daphne's sweet and charming qualities." "Then what do you suppose is the matter?" "I have an inkling of the truth: I imagine Mr. Cecil must have let himself in for a prior attachment." "If so, why does he hang about Daphne?" "Because--he can't help himself. He's a good fellow and a chivalrous fellow. He admires your cousin; but he must have got himself into some foolish entanglement elsewhere which he is too honourable to break off; while at the same time he's far too much impressed by Daphne's fine qualities to be able to keep away from her. It's the ordinary case of love versus duty." "Is he well off? Could he afford to marry Daphne?" "Oh, his father's very rich: he has plenty of money; a Canadian millionaire, they say. That makes it all the likelier that some undesirable young woman somewhere may have managed to get hold of him. Just the sort of romantic, impressionable hobbledehoy such women angle