“Look here,” said Frankland, instinctively turning his back on the tutor, “here’s a little drawing my cousin has been making for some schools you want in the village. She says they must be looked after directly. It’s only a scratch, but I think it’s pretty--a woman is always shaky in her outlines, you know; but the idea ain’t bad, is it? She says I am to talk to you on the subject,” said the heir; and he spread out the sketch on the table and began to discuss it with the pleased curate. Harry was pleased too, in a modified way; he thought he was gratifying Matty, and he thought it was good of such a wayward little thing to think about the village children; and, finally, he thought if she had been indifferent to the young lord of the manor she would not have taken so much trouble--which were all agreeable and consolatory imaginations. As for Colin, standing up by the table, his eyes suddenly glowed and melted into a mist of sweet compunctions; he stood quite still for a moment, and then he caught the smallest possible gesture, the movement of a finger, the scarce-perceptible lifting of an eyelash, which called him to her side. When he went up to Matty he found her reading very demurely, with her book held in both her hands, and his little poem placed above the printed page. “It is charming!” said the little witch; “I could not look at it till I had got rid of Harry. It is quite delightful, and it is the greatest shame in the world not to print it; but I can’t conceive how you can possibly remember the trumpery little things I say.” The conclusion was, that sweeter dreams than usual visited Colin’s sleep that night. Miss Matty had not yet done with her interesting victim. CHAPTER XVII.