over them.
She had read of that trick in a book, and for the life of him he could
not help knowing it. Her answer to his question came from a book, too,
though it also came from her heart.

"Ah," she said, "you know!"

Then the Honourable James was honestly frightened. Next day he had a
telegram, and departed abruptly. And as abruptly the old lady returned.

And now Maisie had a secret joy to feed on--a manna to sustain her in
the wilderness of her tiresome life. She thought of _him_. He loved her;
she was certain of it. Miss Mouse could imagine no reason but love for
the kindness he had shown her. He had gone away without a word, but that
was for some good reason. Probably he had gone to confess to his mother
how he had given his whole heart to a penniless orphan--well, she was
half an orphan, anyway. But the days slipped by and he did not come
back. All that bright time at Christmas had faded like a picture from a
magic-lantern when the slide is covered. Lady Yalding was quite nice and
kind, but she left Maisie to the work Maisie was paid for.

Maisie's mother perceived, through Maisie's studied accounts of her
happiness, more than a glimpse of the reality.

Then, at last, when the days grew unbearable, Maisie wrote to him, a
prim little letter with agitated heart-beats between the lines, where
he, being no fool, did not fail to find them. Yet he had to answer the
letter. He did it briefly.

"DEAR MISS ROLLESTON," he wrote, "I have received your letter
and the little poem, which is very nice. Poems about Spring are
the pleasantest kind, I think.--With kind regards, I am yours
sincerely."

It was not, as you may see, worth the heartache with which Maisie
watched for it.

It was when she wrote again, and sent more verses, that he decided he
must not mince matters.

"DEAR MISS ROLLESTON," was his second letter, "it is good of
you to write again. Now I do hope you won't be offended with me
for what I am going to say. I am so much older than you, you
know, and I know you are alone at Yalding, with no one to
advise you, so it must be my duty to do it, though, for my own
sake, I should, of course, like to advise you quite
differently. It was a great pleasure to me to hear from you,
but I must not allow myself that pleasure again, even if you
were willing to give it to me. It would not be fair to you to
let you write any more to a man who is no