h some
approach to agreement."

Accustomed to bear with Florence's impatience and her capricious humours
as those of an invalid, Emily made no answer, but drew out her work from
a basket and prepared to begin.

"You needn't hope to make much progress with your embroidery, Milly.
You'll have no one to read out the Faust or the Winler Night's Tale
to-day."

"Ah, that's true, and Joseph won't be here till Saturday," said she
sighing, "not to say that I don't suspect he'll have much time to bestow
on reading aloud."

"I thought you were going to say that he reads badly," said Florry, with
a forced laugh.

"Oh no, Florry, I like his reading very much indeed; particularly of
Tennyson and Browning."

"It is not so melodramatic as your friend Mr. Calvert's; but, in my poor
estimation, it is in much truer taste."

"What a strange girl you are! Do you forget the evening you said, 'I'll
not let Joseph read aloud any more; I detest to see him in any rivalry
of which he has the worst?'"

"I must have said it in mockery, then, Milly, for I know of nothing in
which Mr. Calvert could claim superiority over him. I am aware this is
not your opinion, Milly; indeed, poor Joseph has not many allies in
this house, for even Aunt Grainger was one of the fascinated by our
captivating guest."

"Well, but you know, dearest Florry, what a magic there is in the name
Calvert to my aunt."

"Yes, I know and deplore it I believe, too, from chance expressions she
has let drop, that her relations with those very people suggest anything
rather than proud or pleasant memories; but she is determined to think
of them as friends, and is quite vain at having the permission to do
so."

"Even Harry used to smile at her reverence for 'dear old Rocksley.'"

"The worse taste in him," said Florence haughtily.

"How bitter you are to the poor fellow," said the other, plaintively.

"I am not bitter to him. I think him a very accomplished, clever,
amusing person, good-looking, manly, and so forth; and probably, if he
hadn't persecuted me with attentions that I did not like or encourage, I
might have felt very cordially towards him."

"Could he help being in love with you, Florry?"

"In love!" repeated she, in a voice of mockery and scorn.

"Ay, Florry, I never saw a man more thoroughly, devotedly in love. I
could tell, as I entered the breakfast room, whether you had spoken
to him in coldness or the reverse. His voice, as he read aloud, would
be