n and I
both involuntarily turned. We felt awkward! doubtful whether to stay
or retire abruptly. She saved us the choice.

"Mrs. Tod, my father will take his soup at eleven. You will remember?"

"Yes, Miss March."

Upon which, Miss March shut the door at once, and vanished.

She wore a grey silken gown. I glanced at John, but he did not see me,
his eyes were fixed on the door, which had disclosed and concealed the
momentary picture. Its momentariness impressed it the more vividly on
my memory--I have it there still.

A girl, in early but not precocious maturity, rather tall, of a figure
built more for activity and energy than the mere fragility of
sylph-like grace: dark-complexioned, dark-eyed, dark-haired--the whole
colouring being of that soft darkness of tone which gives a sense of
something at once warm and tender, strong and womanly. Thorough woman
she seemed--not a bit of the angel about her. Scarcely beautiful; and
"pretty" would have been the very last word to have applied to her; but
there was around her an atmosphere of freshness, health, and youth,
pleasant as a breeze in spring.

For her attire, it was that notable grey silk gown--very simply made,
with no fripperies or fandangos of any sort--reaching up to her throat
and down to her wrists, where it had some kind of trimming of white
fur, which made the skin beneath show exquisitely delicate.

"That is Miss March," said our landlady, when she had disappeared.

"Is it?" said John, removing his eyes from the shut door.

"She be very sensible-like, for a young body of seventeen; more
sensible and pleasanter than her father, who is always ailing, and
always grumbling. Poor gentleman!--most like he can't help it. But it
be terrible hard for the daughter--bean't it, sir?"

"Very," said John. His laconism was extraordinary.

Still he kept standing by the kitchen-table, waiting till the last
bandage had been sewn on Jack's cut forehead, and even some minutes
after his protege had begun playing about as usual. It was I who had
to suggest that we should not intrude in Mrs. Tod's kitchen any longer.

"No--certainly not. Come, Phineas. Mrs. Tod, I hope our presence did
not inconvenience--the young lady?"

"Bless your heart, sir! nothing ever inconveniences she. There bean't
a pleasanter young body alive. She'll often come into this
kitchen--just as you did, gentlemen, and very happy to see you always,"
added Mrs. Tod, curtseying. "When Mr.