'No, no; I like to stay with you, mammy!' 'And so you shall,' cries she, hugging him; 'you shall always do whatever you like. But Lily'--in a colder key--'you may run away; we do not want you. What are you staring at me so for, child?' Lily puts her head on one side, and hoisting up her shoulder to meet her cheek, rubs them gently together, with her favourite gesture. 'I was only thinking, mammy,' replies she pensively, 'what much smaller ears than yours Miss Lambton has. Do you think that she will grow deaf sooner than other people because her ears are so small?' 'Nonsense!' rejoins the mother sharply; 'do not get into the habit of asking stupid questions. Run away!' 'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings,' etc. The way has been paved for Talbot in a way that he could not have expected. Miss Harborough walks away slowly, dragging her legs, and with a very deep reluctance. She scents an interesting conversation in the air. 'It is odd that Lily should have mentioned Miss Lambton,' says Talbot, taking the plunge; 'for I was just going to mention her myself.' 'It is what you do not often do,' replies Betty drily; '"out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," cannot be said of you.' 'Her gardener is ill,' continues Talbot, leaving unnoticed this little fling, and speaking in as matter-of-fact a tone as he can assume; 'and I promised to help her to water her garden. By the bye'--with an unnecessary glance at the stable clock--'if you could spare me for half an hour--I said I would be there by five--I ought to be off.' There is an ominous silence. Then: 'How do you know that her gardener is ill? Did she think it necessary to write and communicate that interesting fact to you?' 'No.' 'She has not been here since Monday?' 'I believe not.' 'Then you have been there?' 'Yes.' 'What day?' He hesitates. Shall he make a clean breast of it? Yes; 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' 'I have been there five days,' replies he slowly, and looking down. Another pause. He keeps his eyes resolutely averted from her face, but he hears an angry catch in her breath. 'In the morning, I suppose, before I was up?' 'Yes.' She breaks into a rather shrill laugh. 'What an incentive to early rising! The early Blowsabel picks the worm.' Her tone is so inexpressibly insulting that he has to bite his lips hard to keep in the furious retort that rises to them; but he masters himself. Of what use to bandy words with an angry woman? And, after all, from her point of view she has some cause of complaint. Franky has altered his mind, and trotted off after his senior, for whose tree-climbing, cat-teasing, general mischief-doing powers he entertains a respect tempered with fear. They are alone. Betty is walking along with her nose in the air, a smile of satisfied ire at the happiness of her last shaft giving a malicious upward curve to her pretty mouth.