"So the flowers were not for me, you naughty girl. Well, well, times have changed since when, in the eyes of the august peers of our motherland, it was considered 'an atrocious crime' to be a young man."

"Oh, papa, you see I do know a little history--enough to accuse that 'young man' of being guilty of sarcasm in the highest degree."

"Well done, my Madge! Here, take the paper--read me the rest of that speech of young Lawson's. It is a clever defence, and goes to prove my words--that he is a young man of sound judgment, and every day gives proof of greater force."

It was well for Marguerite Verne that the newspaper hid the blushes that, despite her efforts at self-control, played hide-and-seek upon the soft, fair cheeks.

"I am waiting, Madge."

The sweet, silvery tones were the only response, and though the maiden knew it not, there was a tender chord of sympathy that united father and child more firmly, and bent their thoughts in the same happy direction.

CHAPTER VIII.

HUBERT TRACY'S DILEMMA.

As Phillip Lawson sat silently poring over a formidable looking volume, bound in heavy parchment, he was accosted by a familiar voice.

"Working as usual, Lawson?"

"Yes, sir; I generally find something to keep me out of mischief," said the barrister, smiling, in the meantime clearing the proffered seat of a pile of documents that had been cast aside as useless.

"What's the news?" demanded Hubert Tracy in his indifferent and careless style.

There was a restless, wearied look upon the face of Phillip Lawson, as he glanced towards his interrogator. "To tell you the truth Tracy I've heard nothing startling to-day. I might for your amusement give you some of my own afflictions. In the first place I have a headache that I would gladly part with."

"For heaven's sake don't wish it upon me," cried the visitor, thinking no doubt of the unsteady hand and nervous headache of the previous morning.

But this was not the kind of news that Hubert Tracy sought. He wished to draw out some well-timed allusion to the northwest and he had not the courage to do so.

He had been a frequent guest at the Verne mansion of late, but the fact did not add to his felicity. Marguerite Verne could not play the coquette. She was attentive to her callers but nothing more.

Montague Arnold, who was on the eve of declaration to the imperious Evelyn, had now gleaned much of the affairs of the family. He learned that Mr. Verne had a high regard for the rising young barrister and he knew well that there was strong sympathy between father and daughter.

"That little dame has plenty of grit to fight the battle, but if I can manage it she will have to give up, if not she is a match for the old fellow."

The above remark of Montague Arnold gave his companion some assurance yet it did not satisfy him.

"I tell you what Mont, the only chance for me is to get the fellow out of the way, then you can influence the old lady and if she puts her foot down we are all right."