'You may as well sit down. Shall I give you a glass of wine?' 'Oh, indeed, no! No, thank you!' 'I think you'd better have one,' he said, without heeding her. 'I suppose you've got your feet wet? I can't very well ask you to take your shoes off.' 'Oh, they're not wet anything to speak of,' said Jessie, settling herself in a chair, as if her visit were the most ordinary event. She watched him pour the wine, putting on the face of a child who is going to be treated to something reserved for grown-up persons. 'What do they mean by sending you all this distance in such weather?' Dagworthy said, as he seated himself and extended his legs, resting an elbow on the table. 'They didn't send me. I offered to come, and mother wouldn't hear of it.' 'Well--?' 'Oh, I just slipped out of the room, and was off before anyone could get after me. I suppose I shall catch it rarely when I get back. But we wanted to know why you haven't been to see us--not even on Christmas Day. Now that, you know, was too bad of you, Mr. Dagworthy. I said you must be ill. Have you been?' 'Ill? No.' 'Oh!' the girl exclaimed, upon a sudden thought. 'That reminds me. I really believe Mrs. Hood is dead; at all events all the blinds were down as I came past.' 'Yes,' was the reply, 'she is dead. She died early this morning.' 'Well, I never! Isn't poor Emily having a shocking Christmas! I declare, when I saw her last week, she looked like a ghost, and worse.' Dagworthy gazed at the fire and said nothing. 'One can't be sorry that it's over,' Jessie went on, 'only it's so dreadful, her father and mother dead almost at the same time. I'm sure it would have killed me.' 'What is she going to do?' Dagworthy asked, slowly, almost as if speaking to himself. 'Oh, I daresay it 'll be all right as soon as she gets over it, you know. She's a lucky girl, in one way.' 'Lucky?' He raised his head to regard her. 'How?' 'Oh well, that isn't a thing to talk about. And then I don't know anything for certain. It's only what people say you know.' '_What_ do people say?' he asked, impatiently, though without much sign of active interest. It was rather as if her manner annoyed him, than the subject of which she spoke. 'I don't see that it can interest you.' 'No, I don't see that it can. Still, you may as well explain.' Jessie sipped her wine. 'It's only that they say she's engaged.' 'To whom?' 'A gentleman in London--somebody in the family where she was teaching.' 'How do you know that?' he asked, with the same blending of indifference and annoyed persistency.