"You know I told you about our being out in the woods collecting flowers?" "Yes." "And how Julia came upon that great fellow lying amongst the moss and primroses?" "Yes; I wish I had been there!" and the young man's teeth gave a grit together. "But he did not say anything to her?" "No; only stared in a way that frightened her horribly, and it seemed to have such an effect upon her when she dragged herself away, that she was quite ill, and it was hours before I found out what it was." "Poor child! But she must not think about it. She may never see him again." "But she keeps seeing him, so she says. He seems to haunt her. She saw him in the park again a few days ago." "But did she see him, or was it fancy?" "Oh, no, it was not fancy; I saw him too. A great big leering fellow." "Oh, but it must be stopped; your brothers and I must thrash him." "And I half think she saw, or fancied she saw, him to-night, for she was so bright and cheerful when we started, and when we came in she seemed to have turned to stone." "Well, poor child, she will soon have a manly protector now," he said, rather bitterly, as he glanced at where Perry-Morton was hovering over Julia, while the Rector stood by smiling rigid approval. "Don't talk like that, Harry," said Cynthia, quietly; "you hurt me." "Forgive me," he whispered, "but it makes me mad to see your people ready to sell her to that man." "Papa thinks it right, and for the best. And it is not selling, Harry, for papa is rich." "But surely Julia cannot care for him?" "She does not say so, but she loathes him, Harry." "Then why in the name of common sense does she not strike against it, or fall in love with some trump of a fellow who would stick up for her and take her part?" "I wish she would, Harry. But, there, go to her now. She is miserable. Go and stay with her. Send Mr Magnus to talk to me. No, take him with you, and let him chat to her about his pictures. Here is Mr Perry-Morton coming to beam on me, Harry." "Yes." "Don't you feel jealous?" "Horribly," he said, with a look that contradicted his word; and getting up, he went to where James Magnus was talking to a brother artist about their host's last purchase, an early specimen of Burne Jones, full of wonderful realistic trees, and a group of figures, who were evidently all in pain. "Here," he whispered, catching him by the sleeve, "I want to take you to a lady." "No, no--nonsense. I don't like ladies, Harry." "Don't be stupid. I want you to come and chat with Julia Mallow, and take her down to supper. Why, what's the matter with you?" "Nothing, nothing at all. There--no. Get some one else." "Come along, old man. Cynthia sent me. And I say, talk about your pictures to her. Poor girl, she's miserable. They are trying to hook her on to Perry-Morton." "Why, of course. People say they are engaged." "And I say she isn't. She hates the fellow. Why, Magnus, old fellow, why not?" "Why not what?"