Bruno de Malpas was much too shrewd to suppose that his society was the magnet which had attracted the silent youth some fifty miles across the country. He sighed, but resigning himself to the inevitable, lifted his biretta as he came up to the door. Sir John rose and greeted him with evident cordiality, but he did not appear to have any thing particular to say beyond two self-evident statements--that it was a fine evening, and the honeysuckles were pretty. "Is Beatrice within?" said the priest, feeling pretty sure that he knew. Sir John demurely thought not. It was another half-hour before Beatrice made her appearance; and Bruno noticed that the unexpected presence of a third person evoked no expression of surprise on her part. The preparations for supper were made by Beatrice and her attendant handmaiden Sabina; and after the meal was over, Bruno discreetly went off, with the interesting observation that he was about to visit a sick person at the furthest part of the parish. Sir John had taken his seat on the extreme end of a form, and Beatrice came and sat with her embroidery at the other end. Ten minutes of profound silence intervened. "Beatrice!" "Yes." Another minute of silence. "Beatrice!" "Well?" "Beatrice, what dost thou think of me?" Beatrice coolly cut off an end of yellow silk, and threaded her needle with blue. "Ask my father." "How does he know what thou thinkest?" "Well, he always does," said Beatrice, calmly fastening the blue silk on the wrong side of the material. "Wilt thou not tell me thyself?" "I should, if I wanted to be rid of thee." The distance between the two occupants of the form was materially lessened. "Then thou dost not want to be rid of me?" "I can work while I am talking," replied Beatrice, in her very coolest manner. "Why dost thou think I came, Beatrice?" "Because it pleased thee, I should think." The needle was drawn from the blue silk, and a needleful of scarlet went in instead, while the end of the blue thread was carefully secured in Beatrice's left hand for future use. "One, two, three, four,"--Beatrice was half audibly counting her stitches. "It did please me, Beatrice." "Five, six--all right, Sir John--seven, eight, nine--" "Does it please thee?" "Thirteen, fourteen--it is pleasant to have some one to talk to-- fifteen, sixteen--when I am not counting--seventeen, eighteen, nineteen." And in went the needle, and the scarlet silk began to flow in and out with rapidity. "Do I interrupt thee, Beatrice?" "Thanks, I have done counting for the present." "Would it interrupt thee very much to be married?" "Well, I should think it would." Beatrice stopped the scarlet, and rethreaded the blue. "More than thou wouldst like?" "That would depend on circumstances." "What circumstances?" inquired the bashful yet persistent suitor. "Who was to marry me, principally." "Suppose I was?" "Thou canst not, till thou hast asked my father."