At Love's Cost

Stafford watched her as she went lightly and quickly up the road

towards the Hall, Bess and Donald leaping round her; then, with a sharp

feeling of elation, a feeling that was as novel as it was confusing, he

sprang on his horse, and putting him to a gallop, rode for home, with

one thought standing clearly out: that before many hours--the next

morning--he should see her again.

Once he shifted his whip to his left hand, and stretching out his right

hand, looked at it curiously: it seemed to be still thrilling with the

contact of her small, warm palm.

As he came up to The Woodman Inn he remembered, what he had forgotten

in the morning, that he had left his cigar-case on the dining-room

mantel-shelf. He pulled up, and giving Adonis to the hostler, who

rushed forward promptly, he went into the inn. There was no one in the

hall, and knowing that he should be late for luncheon, he opened the

dining-room door and walked in, and straight up to the fireplace.

The cigar-case was where he had left it, and he turned to go out. Then

he saw that he was not the only occupant of the room, for a lady was

sitting in the broad bay-window. He snatched off his cap and murmured

an apology.

"I beg your pardon! I did not know anyone was in the room," he said.

The lady was young and handsome, with a beauty which owed a great deal

to colour. Her hair was a rich auburn, her complexion of the delicate

purity which sometimes goes with that coloured hair--"milk and roses,"

it used to be called. Her eyes were of china blue, and her lips rather

full, but of the richest carmine. She was exquisitely dressed, her

travelling costume evidently of Redfern's build, and one hand, from

which she had removed the glove, was loaded with costly rings; diamonds

and emeralds as large as nuts, and of the first water.

But it was not her undeniable beauty, or her dress and costly

jewellery, which impressed Stafford so much as the proud, scornfully

listless air with which she regarded him as she leant back

indolently--and a little insolently--tapping the edge of the table with

her glove.

"Pray don't apologise," she said, languidly. "This is a public room, I

suppose!"

"Yes, I think so," said Stafford, in his pleasant, frank way; "but one

doesn't rush into a public room with one's hat on if he has reason to

suppose that a lady is present. I thought there was no one here--the

curtain concealed you: I am sorry."