ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. 117

if it were possible, she could change. He tried
her on all points, but she replied with the clear
straightforward truthfulness that has nothing to
conceal. She wavered in nothing: firm to her
love, steady to her principles, right-thinking and
clear-sighted, he felt that Rose Dillon of Abbey
weld would have added the dignity of virtue to
the dignity of rank, but that her mind was of
too high an order to bend to the common influ-
ences that lead women along the beaten track
of life.

They parted to meet no more; and Roses
shed tears at their parting. ‘I did not wish
you to make a declaration that did me too much
honour,” she said; “ but I entreat you to say
nothing of it to Mrs. Ivers. My own course is
taken, and God knows how earnestly I will
pray that you may find one in every way wor-
thy your high caste of mind and station.”

I wonder would Edward Lynne have quite
approved of those tears; I wonder would he
have been pleased to have observed the cheek
of his affianced bride pressed against the draw-
ing-room window, to catch a last glimpse of the
cab which dashed from Mr. Ivers’ door. Per-
haps not—for the generous nature of woman’s
love and woman’s friendship, is often beyond
man’s comprehension—but he would have been
pleased to see, after she had paced the room for
half an hour, the eagerness with which she re-
ceived and opened a letter from himself; to