More than a month before Everard would return! Such were the reflections passing through Alixe's mind as she watered the moss-rose tree which Emily had given her, and which was allowed a place in the greenhouse. She was still occupied arranging and dressing the flowers, when she heard her mother's voice from the drawing room. She put down the watering pot, skipped up the few steps which led into the room and advanced to her mother. Lady St Clair looked grave. She had a letter in her hand.

“Is anything the matter, dear Mamma?”

“No, my love, only you must consider attentively what I am going to say. But first read this note which is enclosed for you.” Alixe read it:

I have been some time mustering courage to address you. But it is better to be sure of one's fate than to hang on in suspense, as I have done for some time past. I have no eloquence at command, particularly at this moment. But if the sincerity of attachment can make any amends for other defects, it will be my excuse on the present occasion. By enclosing this to your amiable mother, I hope not to offend you or her and may I hope that her voice will plead successfully for me? I have a fortune, I have friends. With you, I shall want nothing to make me happy. Believe me, the whole study of my life would be to make you equally so. If you could hear my feelings at this instant, you would pity me.

Yrs devotedly, Alfred James Aimwell.

Alixe stood unable to raise her eyes. The note dropped. She stooped for it and her mother broke the silence.

“I know, my dear girl, you have a partiality for another, but for reasons I have already given you, I would have you weigh well your feelings with regard to him. Everard has made you no decided offer. He is bound by no promise and I am sorry to say young men have said more and yet ended up doing nothing. Captain Aimwell is a suitable match. He is an only son and an amiable man. May you never live to feel bitterly that such men make better husbands than men of talent, of the world. Act for yourself, judge for yourself.