"Sit down a minute, while aunt Belinda is talking about red-flannel nightcaps and lumbago," she said. "I wanted to ask you something. By the way, what _is_ lumbago?" "Is that what you wished to ask me?" he inquired stiffly. "No. I just thought of that. Have you ever had it? and what is it like? All the old people in Slowbridge have it, and they tell you all about it when you go to see them. Aunt Belinda says so. What I wanted to ask you was different"-- "Possibly Miss Bassett might be able to tell you," he remarked. "About the lumbago? Well, perhaps she might. I'll ask her. Do you think it bad taste in _me_ to wear diamonds?" She said this with the most delightful seriousness, fixing her eyes upon him with her very prettiest look of candid appeal, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she should apply to him for information. He felt himself faltering again. How white that bit of forehead was! How soft that blonde, waving fringe of hair! What a lovely shape her eyes were, and how large and clear as she raised them! "Why do you ask _me_?" he inquired. "Because I think you are an unprejudiced person. Lady Theobald is not. I have confidence in you. Tell me." There was a slight pause. "Really," he said, after it, "I can scarcely believe that my opinion can be of any value in your eyes. I am--can only tell you that it is hardly customary in--an--in England for young people to wear a profusion of ornament." "I wonder if I wear a profusion." "You don't need any," he condescended. "You are too young, and--all that sort of thing." She glanced down at her slim, unringed hands for a moment, her expression quite thoughtful. "Lucia and I almost quarrelled the other day," she said--"at least, I almost quarrelled. It isn't so nice to be told of things, after all. I must say I don't like it as much as I thought I should." He kept his seat longer than he had intended; and, when he rose to go, the Rev. Arthur Poppleton was shaking hands with Miss Belinda, and so it fell out that they left the house together. "You know Miss Octavia Bassett well, I suppose," remarked Barold, with condescension, as they passed through the gate. "You clergymen are fortunate fellows." "I wish that others knew her as well, sir," said the little gentleman, kindling. "I wish they knew her--her generosity and kindness of heart and ready sympathy with misfortune!" "Ah!" commented Mr. Barold, twisting his mustache with somewhat of an incredulous air. This was not at all the sort of thing he had expected to hear. For his own part, it would not have occurred to him to suspect her of the possession of such desirable and orthodox qualities. "There are those who--misunderstand her," cried the curate, warming with his subject, "who misunderstand, and--yes, and apply harsh terms to her innocent gayety and freedom of speech: if they knew her as I do, they would cease to do so." "I should scarcely have thought"--began Barold.