Swords Reluctant. Pemberton Max

as though it had all been settled in the beginning of things, and was as unalterable as the course of the planets. She began to think that his love for her was very real, and not a mere ebullition of a boyish sentiment. Long years of her childhood seemed to be lived again as he put his arm about her and told her of his happiness.

      "You knew it all the time, Gabrielle. You never had any doubt about it. Of course, I loved you. Tell me so yourself. Let me see it in your eyes."

       She laughed, and told him, as the situation seemed to require, not to be foolish.

      "Father will be waiting for me. What shall I say to him?"

      "That I am going to marry you directly I return from the Australian tour."

      "Why frighten him prematurely? There are thousands of pretty girls in Australia."

      "That's beastly of you. Deny it, or I will kiss you again."

      "Oh, Harry, my cheeks will be so red."

      "Say it's the frost. I must kiss you, Gabrielle. There—little cat! Why do you wrestle with me?"

      "Because I feel that we are just two children playing."

      "But you'll never play with any other child—swear that to me, Gabrielle."

      "My dear Harry, that would be the most childish thing of all. Now, you must say good-night, I hear my father."

      He held her for an instant in his arms, and she trembled. When at length he strode off in his masterful and imperious way, her father stood in the porch and called her. He had seen nothing of this curiously "worldly" scene, and was full of a letter he had just received from the Archbishop of Canterbury. This invited him to a Conference at the Mansion House, and he pointed out with satisfaction that it had been written at the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth.

      "This movement may not bring all the nations in, or make them dwell together in harmony and peace, he said, "but it will certainly bring peace to the churches. Of course, they will ask me to speak, Gabrielle."

      "When is it for, father?" she asked him.

      "In ten days' time—at the Mansion House."

      "You will have to get a typewriter; I shall be at Richmond."

      "I think it is better. I should not like Sir Jules or Mr. Faber to know that you do such work, Gabrielle."

      "Oh," she said with a light laugh, "I don't think they would be shocked, father. They are both self-made men."

      "Yes, but self-made men rarely like self-made women. It's the way of the world. If we go to America——"

      "But you do not intend to accept the call from Yonkers, father?"

      He shook his head.

      "A man might do a great work over there. My imagination is sorely tempted. I am altogether at a loss."

      She was too tired to take up the ancient arguments which this threadbare question had provoked. Later on, in her own bedroom, she sat before a brisk fire, and tried to take stock of the varied events of that busy day.

      Vaguely out of the mists there emerged the truth, that two men had made love to her, and that one was a man who might presently rule the Western world. She could look down a vista of fable land to a future surpassing all expectations of her dreams, and believe that at a word she might enter in. The obverse of the medal was Harry Lassett and the story of her youth. This lad had crept into the secret places of her heart. She still trembled at a memory of his kisses. With him, life would be meticulous—a villa and a trim maidservant. His scheme of things could embrace no great idea; and yet he, too, was a popular hero, and great throngs would go to Lords to see him play. Gabrielle knew that she loved him; but she doubted if her love would prove as strong as the dreams.

      It was midnight when she undressed.

      The weather had turned much warmer. She opened her window to discover that it was snowing, and that the snow melted as it fell.

      The fables were already discredited. It seemed almost an omen.