frank derison looked forward to the arrival of his cousin with much disfavor. under any circumstances it would have seemed to him bad enough that his future should be cut-and-dried for him as if he were still a child in leading-strings, and that a bride should be thrust on him without as much as a "by your leave," but, as the case stood, it was rendered still more obnoxious by the fact that fate had chosen for him a wife for whom he could never feel even that tepid amount of affection which seems to be found an amply sufficient capital in the majority of matrimonial ventures. as a cousin miss dixon might be everything one could wish, but as a wife he felt that before long he should positively hate her. frank's affections, fleeting and shallow as they were, could only be captured by youth and good looks, and unfortunately miss dixon could boast of neither. when he compared her in his thoughts with sweet hermia rivers, and called to mind all that he had flung away, his heart grew very bitter within him, and he often felt that he would gladly cast behind him all his chances of worldly advancement if, by so doing, he could bring back those pleasant evenings of six months ago when he was a welcome visitant at nairn cottage, and when hermia ever greeted his coming with a smile, the like of which for him the world did not hold. oh, fool--fool that he had been!

but frank was a man of many moods, and there were times when the cold whispers of worldly prudence fell soothingly on his ear. twenty thousand pounds! it was a large sum, but, large as it was, it was only intended by those who had taken his future into their charge as the stepping-stone to something larger still. he was as fully assured as if his mother had told him in so many words, that his marriage with miss dixon was looked upon as a necessary condition, and that, unless he acceded to it, he need look for no further advancement at the bank. the price demanded was a heavy one, or so it seemed to him. he knew fully a dozen girls, any one of whom (his lingering love for hermia notwithstanding) he would willingly have married, even with half of twenty thousand pounds for a dowry. but mildred dixon, with her six years' seniority, her freckles, her spectacles, and her squat figure! poor frank could not help feeling that fate was treating him very hardly indeed.

but there came a reprieve for him almost at the last moment. a couple of days before miss dixon was due to arrive, mrs. derison received a note from her in which she stated that, owing to her mother having been suddenly attacked with illness, her visit would have to be deferred. frank's spirits rose as if by magic.

"her visit is only put off for a little while," said mrs. derison coldly, as she refolded the note after reading it aloud. "nothing is altered."

but a respite is a respite all the world over, and frank's was one of those mercurial natures which, while they are easily depressed, are just as easily elated, and have no inclination to meet trouble half way. he wished old mrs. dixon no harm; still, if her illness should prove to be a lingering one, any profession of sorrow on his part would be the merest hypocrisy.

"you never seem to take into account the fact that mildred might not care to accept my humble and unworthy self as a partner for life," he said, with a quizzical smile, to his mother.

"mildred is a sensible young woman, and knows what is expected of her," was the only reply vouchsafed him.

when mr. avison gave frank plainly to understand that he must turn over a fresh leaf, and cease frequenting the billiard-room of the "crown and cushion," and such-like places, he at the same time intimated to him that for some time past his movements after office hours had been watched by a person who had been employed for that purpose, and it was the fear lest this secret spy might still be similarly engaged that kept his footsteps so straight from that time forward. he had insensibly got into the habit of spending so many of his spare hours in the billiard-room that he was at a loss how to get through his evenings with satisfaction to himself now that he no longer dared be seen there. now that his fortunes at the bank were rising so rapidly, he began to have plenty of invitations to the houses of well-to-do people, where he met a sufficiency of pleasant society of both sexes, but where everything was conducted with an amount of propriety and decorum which to frank became at times absolutely depressing. he hated negus and sandwiches, and having to invent polite nothings for the benefit of a pack of scandal-loving dowagers. he hated having to dance attendance on a crowd of girls, for not one of whom he cared a jot. he was a man who loved men's society, but men out of their evening clothes. he liked the freedom and abandon of the smoking-room and the tavern parlor. his pipe was dear to him, and already he had a taste for cold grog, which in the course of time might develop into a confirmed habit. thus it will be readily understood that to frank derison, life of late had seemed a somewhat tame affair.

it was just about this time that he made the acquaintance of a young fellow of his own age of the name of crofts, who was in business with his father as a solicitor at dulminster. mr. crofts was engaged to an ashdown young lady, and used to go over two or three times a week to see her, and enjoy himself generally at this party, or the other dance.

"beastly poky little hole, ashdown," said mr. crofts one evening, as he and frank were indulging in a cigarette in the balcony of a house where they had happened to meet. "dulminster is bad enough in all conscience, but this place is a dozen times worse."

"what can a fellow do when hard necessity ties one to it?"

"what, indeed! you haven't even a club in the place, i presume?"

"not the ghost of one."

"why don't you join ours at dulminster? very small and select, and all that. say the word, and i'll propose you at the next meeting."

"awfully good of you, but this is the first word i've heard about it."

"why not run over by the five-thirty train on friday next, and pick a bit of dinner with me? we'll go on to the club afterwards, where i'll introduce you to half a score 'bons frères'--that's what we call ourselves--jolly good fellows one and all!"

the invitation so frankly given was as frankly accepted. frank was introduced to the club in due course, and was presently proposed and elected.

mr. crofts had spoken no more than the truth when he said that the club was small and select. in point of fact it was neither more nor less than a little coterie of gamblers. there were the usual reading, smoking, and billiard-rooms, but the card-room was the real focus of attraction. frank, who like his father was a born gambler, entered heartily into the thing, and before long got into the way of spending three or four evenings a week at the "bons frères." the last train between dulminster and ashdown left the former place a quarter of an hour before midnight, but when frank chanced to miss it--which he usually did at least once a week--there was always a bed for him at his friend's, while the eight o'clock morning train landed him at ashdown in ample time for business.

it was scarcely to be expected that frank should content himself with a quiet pool at billiards, while such exciting games as baccarat and unlimited loo were in progress in the next room. accordingly his cue was left to languish on the wall, and he turned his attention wholly to that other board of green cloth which for him was by far the more seductive of the two. occasionally he rose from the table a winner, but fortune frowned on him far oftener than she smiled. the fact was that both by nature and disposition frank was too rash and impulsive to be evenly matched as against certain cool and cautious habitués of the club--old hands who look upon the card-table as a regular source of income, and never throw away a chance. but although he lost and lost again, his ardor for play in nowise abated; rather, indeed, did it seem to grow the fiercer with the gradual lightening of his pockets.

mrs. derison had always insisted on frank's putting aside a certain portion of his salary, month by month, in the ashdown savings' bank, and the amount thus laid by had by this time accumulated to something like a hundred and fifty pounds. on this fund frank now began to draw, of course without his mother's knowledge, in order to enable him to meet his losses at cards, five or six weeks sufficed to make a big hole in his small capital, but still, with the gambler's desperate recklessness, he kept on his course, convinced from day to day that "luck" must change in his favor, and fatuously failing to recognize the fact that he was being quietly but effectually fleeced, and that without any suspicion of cheating on their part, by men far cleverer than himself.

now that edward hazeldine, urged thereto by his brother, had resolved, as far as in him lay, to annul the act of wrongdoing to which he had unwillingly lent himself; now that an intolerable burden had been lifted off his life and his self-respect had in some measure come back to him, he resolved, at the earliest opportunity, to carry out his long-cherished intention of proposing to miss winterton. by this time the family at seaham lodge were back from torquay, but edward did not feel that he should be justified in going over there specially and asking for an interview with miss winterton. he must wait till he was invited by his lordship, and then make his opportunity as best he could. as it fell out he had not long to wait. the earl wanted to see him on business matters, but being laid up with gout, could not leave home, consequently edward must go to the lodge. it was further intimated to him that her ladyship would be pleased for him to stay and dine.

having finished his business with the earl in good time, edward went in search of miss winterton. there was a chance of securing a quarter of an hour alone with her before dinner, but not much likelihood of being able to do so later on. a servant directed him, and he found her in the terrace garden. they had not met for nearly four months.

miss winterton gave him her hand with a smile, but seemed so entirely unembarrassed that he could not flatter himself with the idea that she had the least suspicion as to the nature of the errand which had caused him to seek her out. that, however, in nowise served to turn him from his purpose; and after a little talk on ordinary topics which helped, as it were, to break the ice between them, he plunged at once into the subject which just then was paramount with him. he began his declaration in manly if somewhat commonplace terms, but had not proceeded far before the stream of his eloquence was arrested by miss winterton placing one of her hands on his sleeve with a gesture which he could not mistake.

"before you say a word more, mr. hazeldine, permit me to ask you one question," she said, speaking with perfect quietude and without a trace of irritation or annoyance. "are you, or are you not, aware that your father was not murdered, as everyone was led to believe, but that, in point of fact, he put an end to his own existence? because if you are aware of it, do you think, taking all the circumstances of the case into consideration, that, as an honorable man, you are justified in asking me to become your wife?"

had the ground opened at edward hazeldine's feet he could not have been more startled and astounded. he knew not what to say, where to look, what to do. had his carefully-guarded secret, which he had flattered himself was known but to four people, or, at the outside, to five, become public property? if not, how had miss winterton become possessed of it? but these were vain questions, and what he had now to consider was the answer it behoved him to give to miss winterton. a moment later he had made up his mind. there should be no more double-dealing, or fencing with the truth on his part; he had suffered enough from that sort of thing already.

"yes, i am aware of it," he said, with the desperate calmness of a man who finds himself in a position from which he sees no way of escape. "i have known it from the first. but i am a moral coward, miss winterton, and the consequences of telling the world what i knew would have been so grievous to me and mine that i had not the courage to avow the truth. you are right. i had no justification in speaking to you as i did. i can only crave your forgiveness for my offence, and assure you that you need have no fear of a repetition of it."

he raised his hat, made a more profound bow than ever he had made in his life, and then turning on his heel, he strode slowly back towards the house.

on previous occasions when he had dined at the lodge it had nearly always been his lot to take down miss winterton, but to-day it was a relief to him to find himself relegated to mrs. wiggins, the wife of the family lawyer, to whom he paid as much attention during the progress of the meal as the somewhat confused state of his faculties would allow of his doing.