of her service. The plants in the conservatory
had passed under her care, and no one else was privileged to touch
Maltravers's books, or arrange the sacred litter of a student's
apartment. When he came down in the morning, or returned from his walks,
everything was in order, yet, by a kind of magic, just as he wished it;
the flowers he loved best bloomed, fresh-gathered, on his table; the
very position of the large chair, just in that corner by the fireplace,
whence, on entering the roof, its hospitable arms opened with the most
cordial air of welcome, bespoke the presiding genius of a woman; and
then, precisely as the clock struck eight, Alice entered, so pretty and
smiling, and happy-looking, that it was no wonder the single hour at
first allotted to her extended into three.

Was Alice in love with Maltravers?--she certainly did not exhibit
the symptoms in the ordinary way--she did not grow more reserved, and
agitated, and timid--there was no worm in the bud of her damask check:
nay, though from the first she had been tolerably bold; she was more
free and confidential, more at her ease every day; in fact, she never
for a moment suspected that she ought to be otherwise; she had not the
conventional and sensitive delicacy of girls who, whatever their rank of
life, have been taught that there is a mystery and a peril in love; she
had a vague idea about girls going wrong, but she did not know that love
had anything to do with it; on the contrary, according to her father,
it had connection with money, not love; all that she felt was so natural
and so very sinless. Could she help being so delighted to listen to
him, and so grieved to depart? What thus she felt she expressed, no less
simply and no less guilelessly: candour sometimes completely blinded and
misled him. No, she could not be in love, or she could not so frankly
own that she loved him--it was a sisterly and grateful sentiment.

"The dear girl--I am rejoiced to think so," said Maltravers to himself;
"I knew there would be no danger."

Was he not in love himself?--The reader must decide.

"Alice," said Maltravers, one evening after a long pause of thought and
abstraction on his side, while she was unconsciously practising her last
lesson on the piano--"Alice,--no, don't turn round--sit where you are,
but listen to me. We cannot live always in this way."

Alice was instantly disobedient--she did turn round, and those great
blue eyes were fixed on his own with s