r what else she was
about. Mrs. Bywank looked and smiled and sighed, and bent down
to see if the honey was perfect. It was late in the morning
now: Mr. Rollo's slumbers had been allowed to extend
themselves somewhat indefinitely in the direction which most
men approve; and still breakfast waited, down stairs; and Mrs.
Bywank at the tower window gazed down the slope and over the
trees towards Wych Hazel's present abiding place. Not
expecting to see her, but watching over her in her heart. So
standing, she was hailed by a cheery 'good morning' behind
her.

'I suppose people who turn day into night have no right to
expect the day will keep its promises to them; but you are
better than my deserts, Mrs. Bywank. I see a breakfast table!'

'Always ready for you, Mr. Rollo! And you must be very ready
too, by this time,' she said, sounding her whistle down the
stairs. 'Was Miss Wych at Oak Hill last night, sir?'

'I had the pleasure of bringing her home.'

'O, did you, sir?' said Mrs. Bywank, with a quick look. 'She
told me she meant to go,--but her mind comes about wonderfully
sudden sometimes. Here is breakfast, Mr. Rollo. Will you take
your old seat?'

'I think it will always come about in the right place at
last,' said Rollo, as he complied with the invitation. The old
housekeeper drew a sigh, looking up at the little picture.

'My pretty one!' she said. Then applied herself to filling Mr.
Rollo's cup. 'Yes, sir, you're right,' she went on after a
pause. 'And she never would stop in a wrong one, not a minute,
but for just a few things.'

'Mrs. Bywank,' said the young man, 'those few things are all
around her.'

'You'd think so if you could hear the serenades I hear,' said
the housekeeper, 'and see the flowers--and hear the
compliments. She tells them to me sometimes, making fun. But
the trouble is with Miss Wych, she never will see the world
with any eyes but her own,--and who's to make her?'

A problem which Rollo considered in silence, and probably
swallowed instead of his coffee.

'Does she speak freely to you of her impressions, and of what
she is doing or going to do?'

'Free as a child, Mr. Rollo! Always tells me what dress she'll
wear--and then afterwards how people liked it. And what she
does, and what they want her to do. And why her head is not
turned,' said Mrs. Bywank, in conclusion, 'puzzles _my_ head,
I'm sure. Mere handling so many hearts might do it.'

Mr. Rollo pursued his breakfast rathe