"None in the world, unless you get it so fixed there that somebody else happens to know it too. Be careful, my dear. Let no one of these young people get a glimpse of your speculation. Think of the consequence to them and to yourself." "Dear me, Mr Grey! you need not be afraid. What a serious matter you make of a word or two!" "Because a good many ideas belong to that word or two, my dear." CHAPTER TWO. MOONLIGHT TO TOWNSFOLK. The moment the door closed behind Sophia, as she left the sisters in their apartment, Hester crossed the room with a step very like a dance, and threw up the window. "I had rather look out than sleep," said she. "I shall be ashamed to close my eyes on such a prospect. Morris, if you are waiting for us, you may go. I shall sit up a long while yet." Morris thought she had not seen Hester in such spirits since her father's death. She was unwilling to check them, but said something about the fatigues of the journey, and being fresh for the next day. "No fear for to-morrow, Morris. We are in the country, you know, and I cannot fancy being tired in the fields, and in such a park as that. Good-night, Morris." When she too was gone, Hester called Margaret to her, put her arm round her waist, and kissed her again and again. "You seem happy to-night, Hester," said Margaret's gentle voice. "Yes," sighed Hester; "more like being happy than for a long time past. How little we know what we shall feel! Here have I been dreading and dreading this evening, and shrinking from the idea of meeting the Greys, and wanting to write at the last moment to say that we would not come;-- and it turns out--Oh, so differently! Think of day after day, week after week of pure country life! When they were planning for us to-night, and talking of the brook, and lanes, and meadows, it made my very heart dance." "Thank God!" said Margaret. "When your heart dances, there is nothing left to wish." "But did not yours? Had you ever such a prospect before,--such a prospect of delicious pleasure for weeks together,--except perhaps when we caught our first sight of the sea?" "Nothing can ever equal that," replied Margaret. "Do not you hear now the shout we gave when we saw the sparkles on the horizon,--heaving sparkles,--when we were a mile off, and mamma held me up that I might see it better; and baby,--dear baby,--clapped his little hands? Does it not seem like yesterday?" "Like yesterday: and yet, if baby had lived, he would now have been our companion, taking the place of all other friends to us. I thought of him when I saw Sydney Grey; but he would have been very unlike Sydney Grey. He would have been five years older, but still different from what Sydney will be at eighteen--graver, more manly."