anything to do for me, but just to fasten these evening
dresses that close behind. I am much obliged to you, all the same, for
thinking of it, Lady Verner."

Lady Verner turned from the subject: it seemed to grow more and more
unprofitable. "I shall go and hear what Jan says, if he is there," she
remarked to Lionel.

"I wonder we did not see or hear him come in," was Lionel's answer.

"As if Jan could come into the house like a gentleman!" returned Lady
Verner, with intense acrimony. "The back way is a step or two nearer,
and therefore he patronises it."

She quitted the room as she spoke, and Lionel turned to Miss Tempest. He
had been exceedingly amused and edified at the conversation between her
and his mother; but while Lady Verner had been inclined to groan over
it, he had rejoiced. That Lucy Tempest was thoroughly and genuinely
unsophisticated; that she was of a nature too sincere and honest for her
manners to be otherwise than of truthful simplicity, he was certain. A
delightful child, he thought; one he could have taken to his heart and
loved as a sister. Not with any other love: _that_ was already given
elsewhere by Lionel Verner.

The winter evening was drawing on, and little light was in the room,
save that cast by the blaze of the fire. It flickered upon Lucy's face,
as she stood near it. Lionel drew a chair towards her. "Will you not sit
down, Miss Tempest?"

A formidable-looking chair, large and stately, as Lucy turned to look at
it. Her eyes fell upon the low one which, earlier in the afternoon, had
been occupied by Lady Verner. "May I sit in this one instead? I like it
best."

"You 'may' sit in any chair that the room contains, or on an ottoman, or
anywhere that you like," answered Lionel, considerably amused. "Perhaps
you would prefer this?"

"This" was a very low seat indeed--in point of fact, Lady Verner's
footstool. He had spoke in jest, but she waited for no second
permission, drew it close to the fire, and sat down upon it. Lionel
looked at her, his lips and eyes dancing.

"Possibly you would have preferred the rug?"

"Yes, I should," answered she frankly, "It is what we did at the
rectory. Between the lights, on a winter's evening, we were allowed to
do what we pleased for twenty minutes, and we used to sit down on the
rug before the fire, and talk."

"Mrs. Cust, also?" asked Lionel.

"Not Mrs. Cust; you are laughing at me. If she came in, and saw us, she
would say we were too old t