not seem to notice, for her leaden cheek took
a warmer tinge, and her dulled face brightened
perceptibly as she walked up the room leaning
on his arm; her mouth half open, and her long
throat craned into an angle as usual. "It was
Antinoüs and the eldest daughter of Hecate,"
said classical Mrs. Gray, the terror of all the
young men in the neighbourhood.

Mrs. Grantley smiled graciously as they passed
her, and turning to her neighbour said, with
condescending benignity; " That dear girl, Annie
Sibson, is really a great favourite of mine: she
is not pretty, but so amiable, so good!—and
singularly well-informed; with what our fathers
would have said, a pretty turn for science."

"Not much manner," said the neighbour,
who had daughters of her own—- pretty girls without
fortunes. Annie Sibson, with her fifty
thousand pounds, was a thorn in her maternal
side.

"Shy? Yes, undeniably so; but that is no
fault, my dear Mrs. Craven, in these days of
Spanish hats and Balmoral boots. I would we
had a few more shy young ladies among us."
Mrs. Grantley, like all women of the Junonic
order, had a profound aversion to piquancy,
whether in dress or in character; and Mrs.
Craven's three daughters were three brunettes,
with the shortest and reddest of petticoats, and
the smallest and jauntiest of hats. The
conversation dropped, and Mrs. Craven felt
discomfited.

May Sefton looked on while the pair whirled
rapidly past her; a shade paler and more thoughtful
than she was a moment ago; puzzled too, and
not able to read the riddle just offered to her.
Then she stood up to waltz with that most
insufferable of all coxcombs, Charley Fitzallen (who
fancied himself in love with her), in obedience to
a sarcastic request from Laurence "that she
would not disappoint Mr. Fitzallen for his
pleasure!" But either pride, or the buoyancy of
youth, or perhaps a little justifiable dissimulation,
soon brought back her smiles, and she
danced with every one, and talked and laughed,
and did her pretty little harmless tale of flirting
quite merrily. And when Laurence, late in the
evening, came to demand the honour of her hand
for the next polka —- still speaking softly, and
looking into her eyes with tender admiration—-
he found her engaged so many deep there was
no hope left for him.

He turned away with a bitter, loving,
despairing speech. May looked after him with
wondering pain, as again he whirled off with
Annie Sibson, who, the young men used
irreverently to say, danced like a giraffe.

Laurence had danced so often with her
tonight, that gossips laid their heads together,
whispering their comments; one, bolder than
the rest, even venturing to congratulate Mrs.
Grantley on the coming accession of fortune
to her son, congratulating the young lady
also, on her success where all others had failed
to fix. Whereat Mrs. Grantley looked grand and
stony, answering, " I do not understand you,"
as gravely as if a royal sphinx had spoken.

Before Annie was shawled and in the carriage
Laurence Grantley had proposed, and was
accepted. The next day "Warner was written to,
and all these terrible embarrassments pressing
so fiercely onward were disposed of with the
offhand insolence of inexhaustible resources.

CHAPTER II.

THE Grantley marriage was a most brilliant
affair. No marriages are so demonstrative as
those which are made for interest, and where all
the love is on one side; for the less people have,
the more they seem bound to assume.
Magnificent wedding presents; a battalion of
upholsterers and decorators to fit the old Hall for the
coming bride, a lavishness of expenditure, and
gorgeousness of taste, that would have been
princely if it had not been profligate; and
then the world said how handsomely Laurence
Grantley was acting, and to be sure he loved
that uninteresting Annie Sibson after all, and
had not married her for her money only.
Annie half thought so, herself; disagreeable
women generally believe themselves
irresistible; yet there was a test which in spite of
her confidence, she thought it only wise to apply:
and that test was, the settlements. She had very
cleverly managed to put off to the last, the signing
of these important papers, and had refused all
discussion on the point in a manner not to be
gainsaid. She had left all this to her lawyer and
her guardian, she said; they would do what
was right. And what they did, was to take good
care of her—- very good care. When, therefore,
the papers came down for signature the
night before the wedding, they were not quite
what Mrs. Grantley or Laurence had anticipated.
Annie's lawyer and guardian—- at least, she said
it was done by them had interpolated a few
phrases here and there, which left her in a
far better position than had been agreed on.
In fact, they left her supreme, with the Grantley's
" nowhere."

The Grantleys made some strong representations
on the subject, but Annie opposed only a
dull, dead, negative resistance, against which
they simply fought without result, and wearied
themselves in vain. As it was really of
vital importance to get the interest of the
money, if nothing else, they were obliged at last
to give in, and leave her absolute possession of
her fifty thousand pounds.

She had had two aims —- the one to marry
Laurence Grantley, the other to keep her
fortune to herself; and she carried both. She
did not know how Laurence cursed her in
his heart as she sat with her filmy eyes
fixed immovably on the wall, her whole
aspect one of imbecile obstinacy; and she
would not have much cared if she had known.
Annie Sibson never turned aside from her
own path because other people cried out that
she walked over their grounds, and took more
than was her right. "Let them keep their
gates shut and their fences, as I do mine,"
said Annie, hedging in her bit of ground
doggedly.