her then and there, and tells her she is so glad,
and it is the very sweetest thing that could possibly have happened.

"He came down this morning very early and told me all about it," she
says, looking as pleased as though it is her own happiness and not
another's she is discussing.

"Now, what a pity!" says Georgie: "and I did so want to tell you
myself, after the disgraceful way in which you tried to wed me to Mr.
Hastings."

"He could not sleep; he confessed that to me. And you had forbidden
him to go to the vicarage to see you to-day. What else then could he
do but come over and put in a good time here? And he did. We had quite
a splendid time," says Miss Peyton, laughing; "I really don't know
which of us was the most delighted about it. We both kept on saying
pretty things about you all the time,--more than you deserved, I
think."

"Now, don't spoil it," says Georgie: "I am certain I deserved it all,
and more. Well, if he didn't sleep, I did, and dreamed, and dreamed,
and dreamed all sorts of lovely things until the day broke. Oh,
Clarissa,"--throwing out her arms with a sudden swift gesture of
passionate relief,--"I am free! Am I not lucky, fortunate, to have
deliverance sent so soon?"

"Lucky, fortunate;" where has the word "happy" gone, that she has
forgotten to use it? Clarissa makes no reply. Something in the girl's
manner checks her. She is standing there before her, gay, exultant,
with all a child's pleasure in some new possession; "her eyes as stars
of twilight fair," flashing warmly, her whole manner intense and glad;
but there are no blushes, no shy half-suppressed smiles, there is no
word of love; Dorian's name has not been mentioned, except as a
secondary part of her story, and then with the extremest unconcern.

Yet there is nothing in her manner that can jar upon one's finer
feelings; there is no undue exultation at the coming great change in
her position,--no visible triumph at the fresh future opening before
her; it is only that in place of the romantic tenderness that should
accompany such a revelation as she has been making, there has been
nothing but a wild passionate thankfulness for freedom gained.

"When are you coming to stay with me altogether?--I mean until the
marriage?" asks Clarissa, presently.

"I cannot leave Mrs. Redmond like that," says Georgie, who is always
delightfully indefinite. "She will be in a regular mess now until she
gets somebody to take my place. I can't leav