‘You have hardly eaten anything, Beatrix,’ remarked Bella, when they had finished; ‘and you had only a cup of tea at breakfast time. No wonder you are ill.’ ‘I dare say if I could sleep better I should eat more,’ answered Beatrix, listlessly, ‘but the nights are so long--when day comes I feel too worn out to be hungry.’ ‘It is all very bad and very foolish,’ said Bella. ‘Why should you have these sleepless nights? It can’t be grief. You have nothing to grieve about. Your way lies clear before you. It is only a question of time.’ ‘I suppose so,’ assented Beatrix; ‘but I can’t see myself happy in the future. I can’t believe in it. I feel as if all my life was to be spent in this loveless home--my father holding himself aloof from me--Cyril parted from me. How can I be sure that he will always love me--that I shall be the same to him two years hence that I am now? It is a long time.’ ‘A long time to be parted without even the privilege of writing to each other, certainly,’ said Bella; ‘but there is no fear of any change in Mr. Culverhouse’s feelings. Think what a splendid match you are for a poor curate.’ ‘Why do you harp upon that string, Bella?’ cried Beatrix, angrily. ‘You know that if I marry Cyril I shall forfeit my father’s fortune. Cyril knows it too. It is a settled thing. I shall go to him penniless.’ ‘Oh, no, you won’t, dear! Things will never go so far as that. Your father will get reconciled to the idea of your marrying Mr. Culverhouse. You must both look forward to that.’ ‘We neither of us look forward to it. There is no question of fortune between us. Never speak of such a thing again, Bella, unless you wish to offend me. And now I am going to drive you to Great Yafford, to do some shopping. We must buy some Christmas presents for your mamma and brothers and sisters.’ ‘Oh, Beatrix, you are too good.’ Puck, the pony, was one of the finest specimens of his race, a thick-necked, stout-limbed animal, and a splendid goer. He would have dragged his mistress all round England, and never asked for a day’s rest. He never was sick nor sorry, as the old coachman said approvingly, when summing up Puck’s qualifications. On the other hand, he had a temper of his own, and if he was offended he kicked. He would have destroyed a carriage once a week if he had got into bad hands. But he understood Beatrix, and Beatrix understood him, and everything went smoothly between them.