knows I am here, for he is casting his eyes over the house in the aggressively eager manner all unfavoured swains affect. It is your lover who knows he is kindly welcome that walks in lightly and easily, sure of seeing his lady-love in good time. Although I have precipitately rolled off the window-seat, tea-cup and all, I have an uneasy feeling that he is looking at me through the bricks and mortar, and that his importunity will compel me into his presence whether I will or no.
When papa appears upon the scene it is one of the rules of the family for everybody to turn out and see what he will do next. From the force of habit, therefore, I go to the top of the stairs and peep over. He is in the hall, inquiring how many hours I intend to spend in "figging" myself up. Reassured at finding him in his normal state of temper and character—for that other phase, as suggested by mamma, is too horribly subversive of all our traditions to make me feel anything but uneasy—I return to my room to finish my toilette, and in another minute am in the dining-room standing before the gentlemen.
My peck at papa's cheek is soon made; and then George takes my hand with a gladness in his face that I turn away my eyes from beholding. After all, he only says, "How do you do?" and when I have answered "Quite well, thank you," and told him that my journey was tolerably pleasant, our exchange of words ceases, and the conversation is sustained by him and the governor. The latter going away shortly, however, on some (probable) deed of vengeance, the young man comes quickly over to me. How frank, and fearless, and handsome he looks!—a better looking man than Paul, the world would say.
Can you tell me, George, why you never made me love you?—why, when my heart was empty, you could not fill it? Was the fault yours or mine?
"How I have missed you!" he says, looking into every line of
