'He is a rising barrister, of good family and small means, and his name is Robert Bohun,' replies George in a voice full of open amusement. 'Oh! George, do say you are not in earnest,' entreats his sister, almost in tears. I have said the most dreadful things to him—I have made myself quite ridiculous-I told him I was the Queen of Hearts!' At this George laughs still more immoderately. 'What shall I do?' says Miss Norman. 'Dear George,' coaxingly, I think I should like to go to my room.' Nonsense, child, come and have a glass of champagne instead. After all, what does it signify? I'll find Bohun and introduce him to you, and you can both laugh it all over in five minutes.' 6 Introduce him!' indignantly. suggest such a thing to me. I wonder how you can even Of course I shall never be able to look him in the face again. My only hope is, that he and I have seen the last of each other to-night.' Well, come and have your champagne anyhow,' says George; and Miss Norman, still so distracted as to be almost unaware of what she is doing, suffers her brother to lead her to the supper-room, where, to her everlasting chagrin, she finds herself face to face with the King of the Cannibal Islands! Carry comes to a standstill, and Mr. Bohun puts down untasted the glass he holds. They stare at each other silently, and both turn a warm crimson. To Miss Norman this accession of colouring is eminently becoming; to Mr. Bohun it is not. He is quite aware of both these facts, and feels himself at a disadvantage. As for George and Wilding, they are beginning to enjoy themselves thoroughly. Their eyes are gleaming with unholy joy. It is with difficulty they suppress their secret gaiety. The former, coming to the rescue at this moment, says with gentle gravity, 'Carry, permit me to introduce to you one who for years has been to me a true and valued friend, although he can boast a royal pedigree, whilst I am only a humble commoner. True, his people hail from Central Africa, and are hardly choice with regard to their food, but that cannot be placed to his account; it is his misfortune, not his fault. His family name is Bohun, his title' 'Norman' interrupts Bohun angrily. His modesty forbids my dwelling on his manly perfections,' continues George, utterly unabashed. 'But before leaving the subject, Bohun, I should tell you my sister is also of blood royalshe is, in fact, the well-known Queen of 'George!' exclaims Miss Norman severely. 'Well, I shall say no more,' says Norman; and then he and Wilding give way to much unseemly merriment, and taking each other by the arm, march off to a distant table. 'I hope you will forgive my wretched mistake, Miss Norman,' says Bohun, when he and Carry are alone. I'm sure I can't think how the absurd idea got into my head, but I was positive you were a--a 'So was I-of you-' says Miss Norman rather incoherently, with downcast eyes. But Bohun happily understands. 'I'm awfully ashamed of myself,' continues he earnestly. 'I really think I must have been mad, when-when I thought you so.' 'So must I,' murmurs Miss Norman, growing more incoherent ; and always with her lovely eyes cast down. 'I hope I am forgiven,' says Bohun anxiously. 'I hardly think there is anything to forgive,' with a low halfnervous laugh, and just one swift glance from under the long dark lashes; I think we have both sinned equally. When I remember all the absurd things I said to you,' putting up her hand to her soft flushed cheek, I feel so angry with myself. But I didn't mean them. You must understand that.' "Of course I understand that,' says the young man. I wish you would promise me to forget all about this dreadful evening.' 'I shall do my best, but there are some things one cannot forget. You told me, for instance, that when we were both free of our asylum I might call upon you. I can't forget that, you know. And there were a few other things I don't want to forget either.' 'O! but I really wish you would,' says Miss Norman, that is -some of them-the "other things" I mean—confusedly— indeed, perhaps it would be better if you forgot everything.' 'O! don't say that,' says the young man. And all I said about the hearts-with another glance from the beautiful violet eyes- you must have thought me so foolish, so conceited, but I didn't mean a word of it. The only heart I have in my possession is my own.' Are you quite sure it is in your possession?' asks he even more earnestly than he is himself aware. 'Quite sure,' replies Miss Norman, examining her fan with interest. It is a glorious day towards the close of the London season. Outside, beneath the hot rays of the brilliant sun, the heat is almost insupportable; but within, where Miss Norman is sitting in her pretty drawing-room with all the blinds pulled down, and a soft little breeze sighing in and out through the half-opened windows, it is almost cool Miss Norman is dressed in a charming morning gown-all pure white-that clings closely to her perfect figure, and suits her à merveille, with a good deal of lace, and just a suspicion of black velvet, at the throat and wrists. She has some fanciful bit of crewel work between her fingers, but it can hardly be said to grow beneath her hands. She is alone (Lady Norman, her mother, having gone to sit for an hour with her eldest daughter and the new baby), but from the expectant manner in which her eyes seek the door every now and then, and the little impatient sigh that sometimes escapes her, it is evident she does not anticipate being long so. It is rather more than two months since that memorable evening when she and Bohun first met. Two months, in which endless balls, dinner and garden parties, operas and small and earlies, have done their appointed work. Perhaps, indeed, the small and earlies have the most to answer for. At all events, Bohun in this short time has lost his heart irretrievably to her, which hardly makes her the richer, she having given away her own There is a knock at the door-a short silence-then a quick step upon the stairs. Miss Norman, taking up the neglected work, evidently throws her whole soul into its completion, and stitches away diligently. Then the door opens, and Bohun is announced. 'You!' says Carry, rising with a smile and a glance of wellfeigned surprise, although in reality she has been waiting for this moment for fully half-an-hour. 'Yes, I was anxious to know how you were after last night's fatigue. I needn't ask, however; you don't look in the least done up.' 'No. Dancing does me good. But how very thoughtful of you to call!' "There is nothing very remarkable about that,' says Mr. Bohun. "You know I am always thinking of you.' 'Well,' says this hypocrite blandly, taking no notice of his sentimental remark, it was a pity you didn't put off your visit for another hour. Mamma has gone to see Lizzie, and now you will miss her.' 'Has she really?' says Bohun; but the news doesn't seem to afflict him very severely. On the contrary, it is with a decidedly more cheerful air that he puts his hat away, and draws his chair a little nearer to Miss Norman's. Then ensues an animated conversation, in the course of which Mr. Bohun imparts a good deal of information. His cousin has died quite suddenly in Florence. He is the next heir. He has come in for the title, and all the money, and that. Miss Norman is charmed-delighted-she congratulates him with all her heart. It must be so nice to be a Baronet, you know, and—” Then the voices grow lower and lower, until at last they cease altogether. When the conversation was begun they were seated, now, as they get to this point, they find they are both standing. Miss Norman is very close to a jardinière, and Bohun is very close to Miss Norman. And I think you love me a little too, Carry-don't you?' asks the young man anxiously, taking her hand with very becoming diffidence. Miss Norman's other hand is trifling nervously with the leaves near her; she makes no immediate reply. Her eyes are lowered. On the night when first we met,' says Bohun, 'you told me you would accept me as your subject. I have not forgotten that. You were a queen then-you are always a queen to me-and you told me also a royal promise could not be broken. So yours ought to be sacred. You will accept me, Carry? You will marry me?' 'I don't want you as a subject,' says Carry. I made a mistake.' Oh! Carry!' says the young man, with keen reproach in his tone; so keen that Miss Norman involuntarily raises her face to his, and lets him see the tears that are dimming her pretty eyes. At this he is so far encouraged that he encircles her with his arm, whereupon she lays her head very contentedly upon his shoulder. Would you have a queen wed her subject?' she asks, with a little flickering smile, although the violet eyes are quite drowned by this time. 'if 'I would,' says Bohun with decision. 'It would never do,' says Carry. 'No,' in a little soft whisper, you insist on marrying me, you shall not be my subject—you shall be my king!' 'I shall be both,' says the young man very earnestly. |