CHAPTER LIII.
SLIGO MOULTRIE _vice_ ABEL NEWT.
Abel Newt had now had two distinct warnings of something which nobody
knew must happen so well as he. He dined sumptuously that very day, and
dressed very carefully that evening, and at eight o'clock was sitting
alone with Grace Plumer. The superb ruby was on her finger. But on the
third finger of her left hand he saw a large glowing opal. His eyes
fastened upon it with a more brilliant glitter. They looked at her too
so strangely that Grace Plumer felt troubled and half alarmed. "Am I too
late?" he thought.
"Miss Grace," said Abel, in a low voice.
The tone was significant.
"Mr. Newt," said she, with a half smile, as if she accepted a contest of
badinage.
"Do you remember I said I was perfectly happy?"
He moved his chair a little nearer to hers. She drew back almost
imperceptibly.
"I remember you _said_ so, and I was very glad to hear it."
"Do you remember my theory of perfect happiness?"
"Yes," said Miss Plumer, calmly, "I believe it was perfect love. But I
think we had better talk of something else;" and she rose from her chair
and stood by the table.
"Miss Plumer!"
"Mr. Newt."
"It was you who first emboldened me."
"I do not understand, Sir."
"It was a long time ago, in my mother's conservatory."
Grace Plumer remembered the evening, and she replied, more softly,
"I am very sorry, Mr.
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