By four o’clock that afternoon the vicarage grounds presented a festive appearance, as the hundred guests strolled to and fro, arrayed in light, summer-like garments.  The tennis-lawn was occupied by a succession of players, a ping-pong table stood in a quiet corner and attracted a certain number of devotees, and the grass-plot in front of the study window had been marked out for golf croquet.  For those less actively disposed there were seats in the prettiest corners, and an endless supply of refreshments served on little tables under the trees.

Ruth was looking lovely and radiant, blissfully conscious of Victor’s presence, even if he were at the further end of the garden; of a dress and hat which suited her to perfection, and of her own importance in the eyes of the assembly-Miss Farrell, the squire’s nearest living relation, his image in appearance, and reputed to be his favourite.  Surely this must be the future mistress of the Court!  The intoxicating whisper followed her wherever she went, and heightened the flush in her cheek.

“Berengaria!” cried a laughing voice; and she turned to see Lady Margot Blount standing by her side, holding out a slim, gloved hand.  While most of the girls present were arrayed in chiffons and laces, she wore a perfectly simple lawn dress, with a coarse straw hat shading her face; but the accessories of shoes, gloves, belt, parasol, and dainty jewelled fastenings were all of an immaculate perfection, and with her tall, graceful carriage she was by far the most striking figure present.

The two girls had met several times at different houses in the neighbourhood since the formal exchange of calls, and it was not Margot’s fault that the friendship had not progressed still further.  She was always cordial, almost demonstrative in manner, eager to plan fresh meetings and mutual occupations.  It was Ruth who persistently put obstacles in the way.  In spite of Victor’s protestations, she instinctively recognised in Lady Margot a formidable rival, and the knowledge gave her courage to disregard her uncle’s expressed wishes, and neither give nor accept informal invitations.

To-day, however, in the flush of her success she was full of good-will to the whole world, and the former jealousy was replaced by commiseration.  Poor Lady Margot, poor everybody whom Victor did not love as he loved herself!

“Oh, Lady Margot, I am so glad to see you,” she cried frankly.  “Do come for a stroll with me!  I am so tired of being asked how I like Raby, and talking commonplaces to curious strangers.  Doesn’t it all look bright and pretty?  If only it will keep fine to the end.”

“Oh, we may have a shower, but I don’t think it will be anything more serious Yes; Mrs Thornton has done wonders.  Shall we take this path?  It is the narrowest and quietest, so there is the less fear of interruption.”

Ruth turned in the direction indicated with a somewhat doubtful look.  A narrow path, bordered on one side by prickly gooseberry-bushes, was hardly the promenade for her perishable fineries; but while she hesitated Margot led the way forward, and she followed, drawing her skirts tightly together.  Even so, disaster awaited her, for in the interest of an animated discussion some of the filmy folds slipped from the hand which held the parasol, dragged along the ground, and finally caught with a rip and a jerk, leaving a long jagged tear at the hem.

Of the two exclamations, Margot’s was far the most distressed.

“Oh, my poor Berengaria!  How thoughtless of me to bring you here!  It’s all my fault.  I am such a plain-hemmed creature myself that I forgot your frills.  You must fasten it up at once or you may trip.  I can give you some pins, and there is a little summer-house at the end of the path, where you can sit down and fasten it properly.  I’ll stand before the door and screen you from the public gaze.”

“Oh, thanks, it will be all right; I am thankful it was not further up.  The hem can always be shortened,” said Ruth practically.  She sat down in a corner of the summer-house, the windows of which were screened by thickly growing tendrils of hop, and, spreading out the tear, began to pin it daintily together, while Lady Margot mounted guard outside.

A minute passed-two minutes-then came the sound of a man’s quick tread, and a voice spoke, a voice broken by a quiver of emotion which could tell only one tale.

“Lady Margot!  You here?  I have been looking for you all afternoon.  Why did you hide yourself in this out-of-the-way place?  You knew I should be waiting.”

The pin fell from Ruth’s hand, she sat motionless as a statue behind the leafy screen.  It could not, could not be Victor’s voice!

“I have not been here many minutes,” Lady Margot replied quietly.  “I knew we should meet sooner or later; but you are a public character to-day, and I must not monopolise your attention.”

“Monopolise!” cried the voice again, the familiar voice with the strange, unfamiliar thrill.  Ruth’s head dropped forward and her hands clasped the seat on either side.  “You talk of monopolising, while I starve all week with just a chance five minutes now and then to keep me alive!  I rode for about three hours yesterday morning without even a glimpse of you in the distance.  I have been counting the hours until this afternoon.”

“Count them just a little bit longer, then; I have not spoken to half my friends, and we would certainly be interrupted.  Do me a favour and go back to the lawn now, and later on-say in half an hour-come to me again, and you shall have your reward.”

“I’d wait a hundred years if I could have what I wanted at the end!” said the voice passionately.

Footsteps crunched down the path, then came silence, and the falling of a shadow across the doorway.  Ruth lifted an ashen face, and saw Lady Margot looking down upon her with tender, liquid eyes.

“Dear,” she said gently, “you heard!  I meant you to hear.  Don’t think me cruel; it was the truest kindness.  You and I have something to say to each other.  I know a quiet nook where we can be alone.  Come, Ruth-come with me!”

Ruth rose mechanically and followed her guide through a door in the wall, which led to a square piece of ground, bare and ugly,-a cabbage-patch in name and in deed.  There against the unromantic background the two girls stood looking at each other, face to face with the great question of their lives.

“Ruth,” said Margot gently, “let us be honest with each other.  It is the only way.  This man-Victor Druce-has come into both our lives; let us find out where we stand!  Shall I tell you my story first?  I met him last summer, when we were thrown constantly together for six weeks, and he attracted me.  I came nearer loving him than any man whom I had met.  Why, I don’t know.  I saw he admired me; but others had done that, and when I was alone and could think about him quietly there were many things about him I did not like.  Still, he fascinated me.  I thought of him a great deal during the winter.  I looked forward to seeing him again.  He was not of my world, and it seemed impossible that anything serious could come of it; but I dreamt dreams...  Then I came here, and found, to my amazement, that he was staying at the Court.  He met me one morning going out for my ride, and since then it has often happened.  From the first his manner was different; more assured.  He told me of Mr Farrell’s proposition, and insisted that the chances were in his favour.  He wished me to look upon him as the future owner of the Court; a man who would be in my own position.  He has been making love to me all these weeks, Ruth, but he has not definitely asked me to marry him.  That’s my story!  Will you tell me yours in exchange?”

Ruth looked drearily round the bare, ugly patch.  A moment before she had been living mentally and physically in a land of roses; now, in an instant, the scene had changed and the beauty had disappeared.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that he has been making love to me too...  He has insisted from the first that I am Uncle Bernard’s favourite, the others think so too, and he has made me believe-only this morning he made me believe-that he was afraid to speak plainly because of the difference in our position.  He said I should be a great lady, and he would be working for his bread far away, and thinking of me.”  Ruth’s voice broke pitifully, but the red flamed in Margot’s cheek, and she reared her proud head with a disdainful gesture.

“So!  It is as I thought; he has been playing a waiting game, making love to us both, but keeping himself free until he saw how the land lay.  If he inherited, Lady Margot Blount would be useful in society; if he were cut off, he would reserve the chance of marrying the heiress.  And we have both been deceived, and have imagined that he was in earnest!  I have seen him on the stage, and congratulated him on his success, but I was not prepared for such finished acting in real life.”

“No!” said Ruth drearily, “you have not been deceived; he was not acting with you.  I heard him speak just now, and I felt the difference.  Oh, Margot, he is playing with me, but he is in earnest with you; he does really love you!”

Margot’s lip curled scornfully.

“It is hardly my idea of love.  If I am ever married, it shall be to a man who will risk something for my sake, not to a mercenary who thinks first of himself.  I suspected something of this from the first afternoon I called at the Court.  You were sitting together on the terrace, and something in his attitude...  Oh, well, why dwell on it any more?-it is none too pleasant.  Ruth dear, you have avoided me, and I have seemed to force myself upon you, but I was determined to find out the truth, for both our sakes.  It is better so, is it not?”

Ruth’s dull glance of misery was pathetic to behold.

“I suppose it is,” she said slowly, “but just now I cannot feel glad.  Everything seems over.  I was so happy, and it will be so difficult to go on living in the same house, meeting at every hour of the day.  It is easier for you, for you need not see him unless you wish, and you do not care as I did.”

“Don’t I?” queried Margot gently.  “He has been first in my thoughts for nearly a year, Ruth, and you have known him for a few weeks.  It is not easy for me, either; but we must both realise that the Victor Druce of our imagination never existed, but was a creation of our own brains.  This man-this adventurer-who has used us as his tool, must never suspect that he has caused us pain; we must play our parts without flinching, and let him see more and more clearly that we desire nothing from him.  It will be difficult, but there is nothing else for it, if we are to keep our dignity.  Ruth, you have plenty of will-power;-one can see it in your face; you will not let this man deceive you again with his plausible words?”

Ruth shook her head.  The grey eyes shone hard and bright, then suddenly brimmed with tears.

“Perhaps, after all, he is not worse than I am myself.  Perhaps I deserve this lesson.  Another man asked me to marry him before we left home.  I did not love him, but he was well-off and had a nice house, and for a few minutes I was tempted.  I told him so, and he said he did not want me if I could not care for himself alone...  Perhaps if he had begged very hard I might have said `yes.’”

Margot smiled-a very kindly smile.

“The cases are not precisely similar, are they?  Instead of playing a double game you were absolutely honest; much more honest than is usual on such occasions.  And he was a wise man.  I think I should have liked that man!  Compare him with Victor Druce sometimes, Ruth; it may help you to be brave...  Now I am going back to the garden to act my part.  We will meet and talk again, but we can’t stay away any longer just now without attracting attention...  Just tell me one thing before I go-Can you forgive me for shattering your dream?” She held out her hand, and Ruth took it in both hers.

“I have nothing to forgive.  It is only wakening a little sooner; that’s all!” she said tremulously.

Margot bent down lightly, and touched her forehead with her lips, then turned swiftly away, and Ruth was left alone.  Poor, disenchanted Ruth, wideawake at last, in the midst of the deserted cabbage-patch!