e were a princess. Percival had an unconscious grace of
bearing and attitude, and the considerable advantage of well-made
clothes. Poverty had not yet reduced him to cheap coats and advertised
trousers. And perhaps the crowning fascination in poor Lydia's eyes
was the slight, dark, silky moustache which emphasized without hiding
his lips.

Another rustling outside, a giggle and a whisper--Percival would have
sworn that the whisper was Emma's if it had been possible that
she could have left it behind her when she went out shopping--an
ejaculation, "Gracious! I've blacked my hand!" a pause, presumably
for the purpose of removing the stain, and Lydia reappeared with the
kettle. She poured a portion of its contents over the fender in her
anxiety to plant it firmly on the fire. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed,
"how stupid of me! Oh, Mr. Thorne"--this half archly, half pensively,
fingering the curl and surveying the steaming pool--"I'm afraid you'll
wish Emma hadn't gone out: such a mess as I've made of it! What will
you think of me?"

"Pray, don't trouble yourself," said Percival. "The fender can't
signify, except perhaps from Emma's point of view. It doesn't
interfere with my comfort, I assure you."

She departed, only half convinced. Percival, with another sigh of
relief, proceeded to make the tea. The water was boiling and the fire
good. Emma was apt to set a chilly kettle on a glimmering spark, but
Lydia treated him better. The bit of cold meat on the table looked
bigger than he expected, the butter wore a cheerful sprig of green.
Percival saw his advantages, but he thought them dearly bought,
especially as he had to take a turn up and down Bellevue street while
the table was cleared.

After that day it was astonishing how often Emma went out shopping or
was busy, or had a bad finger or a bad foot, or was helping ma with
something or other, or hadn't made herself tidy, so that Lydia had to
wait on Mr. Thorne. But it was always with the same air of its being
something very droll and amusing to do, and there were always some
artless mistakes which required giggling apologies. Nor could he doubt
that he was in her thoughts during his absence. She had a piano down
stairs on which she accompanied herself as she sang, but she found
time for domestic cares. His buttons were carefully sewn on and his
fire was always bright. One evening his table was adorned with a
bright blue vase--as blue as Lydia's earrings--filled with dried
g