"He worships her. I'm sure of it." "Then it would be wicked, wouldn't it, Harry, to keep them apart?" "I should think it as bad as murder to keep us apart." "Should you, Harry?" "Yes." And more unselfish proceedings. "Then, as papa and mamma have made a mistake, don't you think we ought to help them?" "Yes," said Artingale, "but how? Magnus hangs back. He says he is sure that Julia does not think of him in the slightest degree. What do you say?" "I don't know what to say," cried Cynthia thoughtfully, "only that I am sure she hates Perry-Morton. She says she does." "But does she show any liking for Magnus?" "N-no, I'm afraid not. But does that matter, dear?" "Well, I should think not," replied Artingale thoughtfully. "Magnus loves her very much, and I'm sure no girl could help loving him in return. I almost feel jealous when he talks to you." "No, you don't, Harry," retorted Cynthia, recommencing operations upon the obstinate lock of hair. "Then what is to be done?" said Artingale, at last, after another long display of unselfishness. "I'm sure I don't know, Harry. It almost seems as if Julia was ready to let herself go with the stream. She is so quiet and strange and reserved. I don't know what to make of her. She keeps fancying she sees that man." "But she don't see him." "Oh no: it is impossible; but she is so changed. I find her sometimes sitting and thinking, looking straight before her as if she were in a dream. Bring Mr Magnus here more often." "Here?" "Well, no; to Lawford. I'll coax papa into asking him. Oh, I say, what a capital idea!" cried Cynthia, clapping her hands. "I have it. Her portrait!" "Her portrait!" exclaimed Artingale, starting, as he recalled the scene in his friend's studio. "Yes; the very thing. You take him down to Gatley, and papa shall ask Mr Magnus over to Lawford to paint Julia's portrait, and then there will be such long sittings, Harry; and Mr Magnus will have to look at her so patiently, and move this hand there and that hand here, and get her into quite the correct pose. Oh, Harry, what fun!" "Why, you cunning little witch," he exclaimed; "if Magnus does not jump at the idea, he deserves to lose her." Then there came a little more unselfishness and a little disinterested proceeding, which was interrupted by the entrance of Julia herself, looking very pale and sad. There was a far-off, distant aspect about her eyes, as of one who was thinking deeply of some great trouble, but she smiled affectionately when Cynthia spoke, after which the conspirators exchanged glances, and Artingale went away. PART TWO, CHAPTER SEVEN. AN OFFER DECLINED. They were to be busy times at the Rectory that winter, for the servants left in charge heard that there was to be a great deal of company.