ticularly a girl like Miss Maywood—to whom he had undeniably paid certain attentions, was both novel and unpleasant to Sir Archy, so he only answered stiffly, "I don't quite understand your allusion."
"Why, Ethel Maywood, of course!" cried Letty. "Does anybody suppose that you would go so often to see that wicked old man at Shrewsbury? or Mrs. Chessingham and her husband?"
"If you suppose that there is anything more than friendship between Miss Maywood and myself, you are mistaken—and the suspicion would do Miss Maywood great injustice," said Sir Archy, with dignity.
"Oh, if you think it would hurt Miss Maywood to have it supposed that you are devoted to her—"
"I did not intend to say that," answered Sir Archy, who was neither a liar nor a hypocrite, and who knew well enough how baronets with unencumbered estates are valued matrimonially. "I only meant to state, most emphatically, that there is nothing whatever between Miss Maywood and myself—and justice requires—"
"Justice—fudge!" cried Letty, with ani-
