"He never did say much about me, I believe, while my husband was alive," Mrs Durgan says in a low voice. "Harry didnt like Mr Durgan," she continues, abruptly putting her hand on Kate's. " Didn't he 1 " Kate says in her direct and most uninterested tone, and Mrs Durgan relinquishes the idea of telling something which she feels strangely im pelled to tell to her new companion. Meanwhile Kate goes on assiduously petting and patting the mare Guinevere, which has been named — she feels sure of this now — by her old lover, in memory of that other mare whick carried her from Torquay to meet him, in those early days 4^ when her love was as strong and wild as the pace at which she rode. " Yet Mr Durgan was his own cousin, lam only his cousin by marriage," Mrs Durgan goes on dwelling on the subject, with what Kate feels to be most tiresome pertinacity ; "he is the next heir, I have only a life interest in this place ; that is to say, he is going to let me live here aB long as I please, just as if I were the rightful owner, but Harry Bellairs is the real master of Breagh Placa. " " He's not a man to care about settling anywhere, I should think," Kate says ; "the restlessness of a sailor is grafted on that of an Irishman. I can't fancy Cap tain Bellairs settling down as a country gentleman." " Can't you ? I can !" Mrs Durgaa " says, " and I can't fancy anyone settling down more delightfully than he will in time ; he's very fond of all kinds of sport, you know, and with a wife who sympa thises with that sort of thing -" "But he may never get a wife who sympathises with that sort of thing," Kate says, thinking of herself solely still, and remembering how very improbable it is that he will ever seek her again, though she could sympathise with him so raptur ously if only she had the unassailable right to do so. Whereat Mrs Durgan gives her head a little shake of acquiescence, and says, "Ah! no, true. 