time the tenant
who had for years occupied the house which they owned in the town of
Barnhill had given notice of departure. There was a certain
grotesqueness in the fact of James Hood being a proprietor of real
estate. Twice an attempt had been made to sell the house in question,
but no purchaser could be found; the building was in poor repair, was
constantly entailing expense to the landlord, and, in the event of its
becoming unoccupied, would doubtless wait long for another tenant. This
event had come about, or would in a couple of months, and the loss of
that five-and-twenty pounds a year would make the difficulty of
existence yet more desperate. Once more an attempt at sale must be made,
in itself involving outlays which, however petty, could ill be borne;
and to sell, even if it could be done, meant a serious loss of income.

'What did it mean, do you think?' Mrs. Hood asked, recurring to the
subject of Dagworthy and his astonishing behaviour. She put the question
dispiritedly, not venturing to hope for a solution that would help her
to a more cheerful frame of mind.

Hood scarcely dared to utter the words which came into his mind.

'You remember that they met at the Baxendales'--'

'How did Emily behave?' the mother next inquired.

'She was very quiet. I don't think she liked it. We must bear in mind
the kind of society she is used to. Young Dagworthy won't seem of much
account to her, I fancy.'

'But he has had a good education, hasn't he?'

'Pretty good, I suppose. He confessed to us, though, that he couldn't
pronounce French words.'

'It's quite certain,' said Mrs. Hood, 'he wouldn't have invited you in
if you had been alone.'

'Certain enough,' was the reply, in a tone wholly disinterested. 'But it
must have been just a fancy, a whim. Things of that kind don't happen
nowadays.'

'Not to us, at all events,' murmured the other dejectedly.

'Well, there must come what will,' she added, leaning her head back once
more, and losing interest in the subject. 'I hope nothing and expect
nothing.'

Alas, these two sitting together in the dull little room, speaking in
disjointed phrases of despondency, exchanging no look, no word of mutual
kindness, had they not once loved each other, with the love of youth and
hope? Had it not once been enough to sit through long evenings and catch
with eagerness each other's lightest word? Time had robbed them of
youth, and the injustice of the world's order had starved