Mr. Kingston showed all his teeth in a momentary smile, and then addressed himself to the opportunity that had so happily offered. "Oh, no, she is not late; it is the days that are getting so short," he said. And as he spoke he unfastened her hat and laid it aside, and then drew her burning face to his shoulder and kissed her. She stood still, trembling, to let him do it, one tingling blush from head to foot. She liked him very much; she was very proud and glad that she was going to marry him; she quite understood that it was his right and privilege to kiss her, if he felt so disposed. Still her strongest conscious sentiment was an ardent longing for her aunt's return--or her uncle's, or anybody's. The spiritual woman in her protested against being kissed. "I want you not to be afraid of me," said Mr. Kingston, half anxious, half amused, as he patted her head. "I am not an ogre, nor Bluebeard either; you seem to shrink from me almost as if I was. You must not shrink from me _now_, you know." "I will not--by and bye--when I get used to it," she gasped, with a touch of hysterical excitement, extricating her pretty head, and standing appealingly before him, with her pink palms outwards. "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Kingston, but--but it is very new yet! I shall get used to it after a little." He looked down at her with sudden gravity. She was on the verge of tears. "Oh, yes," he said quietly, almost paternally, "we shall soon get used to each other. There is plenty of time. Let me see--how old are you? Don't tell me; let me guess. Eighteen?" She smiled and composed herself. Yes, she was just eighteen. Somebody must have told him. No, upon his honour, nobody had; it was his own guess entirely. Did he not think he ought to have chosen someone older for such a position of importance and responsibility? No; she was gallantly assured that she had been an object, not of choice, but of necessity. And so on. When the dialogue had brought itself down to a sufficiently sober level, he took her hand, and drawing her into a seat beside him, continued to hold it, and to stroke her slight white fingers between his palms. "They say good blood always shows itself in the fineness of a woman's hands," he said; "if so, you ought to be particularly well-born." "I don't know what your standard is," she answered, smiling. "My father came of a border family ages ago, I believe. I never knew anything about my mother's parentage; she died when I was a baby." "I am _sure_ you are well born," he said, looking fondly and proudly at her as she sat in the firelight, with her golden hair shining. "I shall have not only the finest house, but the most beautiful wife to sit at the head of my table. I don't believe there is another woman in Melbourne who will compare with you, especially when you get those diamonds on." "Diamonds!" ejaculated Rachel.