myself am not fond
of tea,--a fact I deplore morning, noon, and night."

"It is a mere matter of education," says Georgie, laughing. "I used
not to care for it, except at breakfast, and now I love it."

"Do you? I wish with all my heart I was good souchong," says Mr.
Branscombe, at which she laughs again.

"One can't have all one's desires," she says. "Now, with me music is a
passion; yet I have never heard any of the great singers of the age.
Isn't that hard?"

"For you it must be, indeed. But how is it you haven't?"

"Because I have no time, no money, no--no anything."

"What a hesitation! Tell me what the 'anything' stands for."

"Well, I meant no home,--that is, no husband, I suppose," says
Georgie. She is quite unconcerned, and smiles at him very prettily as
she says it. Of the fact that he is actually in love with her, she is
totally unaware.

"That is a regret likely to be of short standing," he says, his eyes
on hers. But her thoughts are far away, and she hardly heeds the
warmth of his gaze or the evident meaning in his tone.

"I suppose if I did marry somebody he would take me to hear all the
great people?" she says, a little doubtfully, looking at him as though
for confirmation of her hope.

"I should think he would take you wherever you wanted to go, and to
hear whatever you wished to hear," he says, slowly.

"What a charming picture you conjure up!" says Georgie, looking at
him. "You encourage me. The very first rich man that asks me to marry
him, I shall say 'Yes' to."

"You have made up your mind, then, to marry for money?" He is watching
her closely, and his brow has contracted a good deal, and his lips
show some pain.

"I have made up my mind to nothing. Perhaps I haven't one to make
up,"--lightly. "But I hate teaching, and I hate being poor. That is
all. But we were not talking of that. We were thinking of Mr.
Hastings. At all events, you must confess he reads well, and that is
something! Almost everybody reads badly."

"They do," says Branscombe, meekly. "I do. Unless in words of one
syllable, I can't read at all. So the curate has the pull over me
there. Indeed, I begin to feel myself nowhere beside the curate. He
can read well, and drink tea well, and I can't do either."

"Why, here we are at the vicarage," says Georgie, in a tone of
distinct surprise, that is flattering to the last degree. "I didn't
think we were half so close to it. I am so glad I met you, because, do
you know,