ke
that laugh amiss.

"The particular mental standard of perfection by which every person
measures other people and things; and as that is generally more perfect
than reality, the ideal is supposed to exist only in the idea."

She stood pondering the answer, with a somewhat humbled brow.

"I think I know," she said shaking her head a little,--"but I shall
have to ask what exactly you mean by a _standard_, Mr. Linden. By and
by--I must see to Cindy now."

And she ran off. Cindy presently brought in the tray; and Faith
followed, arranging and setting in order everything. The tea did not
immediately follow, perhaps the fire had got low, or Mrs. Derrick was
not ready, for Faith did not seem expectant. She stood on the rug
before the fire, looking into it very soberly and consideratively.
There was a little abstraction in her figure and air. Suddenly she
faced round where she stood.

"Do you feel very tired indeed to-night, Mr. Linden?"

"Not _very_--now," he said smiling. "I have been resting. I was a
little more tired than usual when I came home."

Slowly and deliberately she came round behind his chair and stood
leaning upon the back of it.

"Mr. Linden--I want to ask you something."

The tone was low and peculiar. It was a very common thing for her to be
more or less moved by a little timidity; but now plainly Faith was
afraid. It changed her voice, beyond the slight sweet touch that
timidity often gave it.

"You know I like to have you, Miss Faith."

"I wanted to ask--if you would like,--or if you wouldn't dislike--if
you would have any objection, to read and pray at night--here, with
us,--and let Cindy and Mr. Skip come in?"

"I will, certainly," Mr. Linden said: "how could I have any objection?
Miss Faith--will you please to come round here and sit down?--Why are
you so much afraid of me?" She did not leave her position.

"I didn't know whether you would like it," she said in a very low
voice. "I asked mother to ask you, but she wouldn't--though she said
she would like to have you do it. I wanted it particularly for mother's
sake."--The last words were said little above a whisper.

"I don't see where the fear came from, yet."

She was quite still, quite motionless, behind his chair. He turned a
little, so as to see her face, and laid his hand upon hers.

"Will you come round here and tell me, Miss Faith? I shall not let you
stand up all the evening."

She was looking, when he saw her, with the le