"Pray, don't go yet," said Arthur, who was loth to part with his pupil. "You surely do not dine till three, and I have already ordered lunch. Here it comes," and he pointed to the door where Phillis stood, bearing a huge silver salver, on which were wine and cake and fruit of various kinds. "Grapes," screamed Edith, as she saw the rich purple clusters, which had been put up for winter use by poor, discarded Mrs. Johnson. "I really cannot go till I have some of them," and as there was no alternative Richard sat down to wait the little lady's pleasure. He did not care for lunch, but joined in the conversation, which turned upon matrimony. "It must be a very delightful state," said Edith, "provided one were well matched and loved her husband, as I am sure I should do." "Supposing you didn't love him," asked Grace, "but had married him from force of circumstances, what then?" "I'd kill him and the circumstances too," answered Edith. "Wouldn't you, Mr. St. Claire?" "I can hardly tell," he replied, "not having matrimony in my mind. _I_ shall never marry." "Never marry!" and the pang at Edith's heart was discernible in her soft, black eyes, turned so quickly toward this candidate for celibacy. "How long since you came to that decision?" asked Grace; and in tones which indicated truth, Arthur replied, "Several years at least, and I have never for a moment changed my mind." "Because the right one has not come, perhaps," put in Richard, growing very much interested in the conversation. "The right one will never come," and Arthur spoke earnestly. "The girl does not live, who can ever be to me a wife, were she graceful as a fawn and beautiful as---" he glanced at Edith as if he would call her name, but added instead--"as a Hebe, it could make no difference. That matter is fixed, and is as changeless as the laws of the Medes and Persians." "I am sorry for you, young man," said Richard, whose face, notwithstanding this assertion, indicated anything but sorrow. He could now trust Edith alone at Grassy Spring--he need not always be bored with coming there, and he was glad Arthur had so freely expressed his sentiments, as it relieved him of a great burden; so, at parting, when Arthur said to him us usual, "I'll see you again on Friday," he replied, "I don't know, I'm getting so worried with these abominably tedious lessons, that for once I'll let her come alone."