better
than we think. She carried herself rippingly without the blanket, and I
never saw a more beautiful hand in my life--but one," he added, as his
fingers at that moment closed on hers, and held them tightly, in spite
of the indignant little effort at withdrawal. "She may yet be able to
give them all points in dignity and that kind of thing, and pay Master
Frank back in his own coin. I do not see, after all, that he is the
martyr."

Lambert's voice got softer, for he still held Mrs. Townley's fingers,
the footman not having the matter in his eye,--and then he spoke still
more seriously on sentimental affairs of his own, in which he evidently
hoped she would take some interest. Indeed, it is hard to tell how far
the case might have been pushed if she had not suddenly looked a little
forbidding and imperious. For even people of no notable height, with
soft features, dark brown eyes, and a delightful little laugh, may
appear rather regal at times. Lambert did not quite understand why she
should take this attitude. If he had been as keen regarding his own
affairs of the affections as in the case of Frank Armour and his Indian
bride, he had known that every woman has in her mind the occasion when
she should and when she should not be wooed, and nothing disappoints her
more than a declaration at a time which is not her time. If it does
not fall out as she wishes it, retrospect, a dear thing to a woman,
is spoiled. Many a man has been sent to the right-about because he has
ventured his proposal at the wrong time. What would have occurred to
Lambert it is hard to tell; but he saw that something was wrong, and
stopped in time.

When General Armour and his party reached Greyhope it was late in the
evening. The girl seemed tired and confused by the events of the day,
and did as she was directed, indifferently, limply. But when they
entered the gates of Greyhope and travelled up the long avenue of limes,
she looked round her somewhat eagerly, and drew a long sigh, maybe
of relief or pleasure. She presently stretched out a hand almost
caressingly to the thick trees and the grass, and said aloud: "Oh, the
beautiful trees and the long grass!" There was a whirr of birds' wings
among the branches, and then, presently, there rose from a distance the
sweet, gurgling whistle of the nightingale. A smile as of reminiscence
crossed her face. Then she said, as if to herself: "It is the same.
I shall not die. I hear the birds' wings, and o