CHAPTER VI.
It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of summer.
The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were filled with wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards.

Nature wore her brightest smile.

The breakfast room at Earlescourt was a pretty apartment; it opened on a flower garden, and through the long French windows came the sweet perfume of rose blossoms.
It was a pretty scene--the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, the delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers.

Lord Earle sat at the head of the table, busily engaged with his letters.

Lady Earle, in the daintiest of morning toilets, was smiling over the pretty pink notes full of fashionable gossip.