“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, clasping her hands together, “that men, who are always said to be the cleverest and the wisest, should be so slow at the uptake! Any woman would understand--but you, that are her father! The one that was at my hand, as you say, what was it? A long-leggit lad in a marching regiment! with not enough to keep him a horse, let alone a wife. That would have been a bonnie business!--that would have been taking a mother’s care of Effie! I am thankful her mother cannot hear ye. But Fred Dirom is very different--the only son of a very rich man. And no doubt the father, who perhaps is not exactly made for society, would give them Allonby, and set them up. That is what my heart is set on for Effie, I have always said, I will never perhaps have a grown-up daughter of my own.” “I am sure,” said Mr. Moubray, “you have nothing but kindness in your heart.” “You mean I am nothing but a well-intentioned haverel,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with a laugh. “But you’ll see that I’m more than that. Effie! bless me, what a start you gave me! I thought by this time that you were in your bed.” Effie had come back to the drawing-room upon some trifling errand. She stood there for a moment, her candle in her hand, her fair head still decked with the rose which had been its only ornament. The light threw a little flickering illumination upon her face, for her stepmother, always thrifty, had already extinguished one of the lamps. Mr. Moubray looked with eyes full of tender pity upon the young figure in the doorway, standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a world unknown. He had no mind for any further discussion. He followed her out when she had carried off the gloves and little ornaments which she had left behind, and stood with her a moment in the hall to say good-night. “My little Effie,” he said, “an evening like this is little to us, but there is no saying what it may be to you. I think it has brought new thoughts already, to judge by your face.” She looked up at him startled, with her colour rising. “No, Uncle John,” she answered, with the natural self-defence of youth: then paused to inquire after her denial. “What kind of new thoughts?” He stooped over her to kiss her, with his hand upon her shoulder. “We’ll not inquire too far,” he said. “Nothing but novelty, my dear, and the rising of the tide.” Effie opened the door for him, letting in the fresh sweep of the night-wind, which came so clear and keen over the moors, and the twinkle of the stars looking down from the great vault of dark blue sky. The world seemed to widen out round them, with the opening of that door, which let in all the silence and hush of the deep-breathing night. She put her candle upon the table and came out with him, her delicate being thrilling to the influence of the sweet full air which embraced her round and round. “Oh, Uncle John, what a night! to think we should shut ourselves up in little dull rooms with all this shining outside the door!”