“And don’t you love me, pet?” inquired Mrs. Ormson, venturing upon the hazardous experiment of testing the strength of a child’s affections in the presence of strangers,—“don’t you love me?” “No, Lally don’t,” was the reply. “Not if I have brought you something very nice from London?” persisted Mrs. Ormson. Lally stretched out her little hand for the bonbons, but declined to compromise herself by expressing any attachment for the donor. “Now, do you not love me?” asked Mrs. Ormson, persuasively. Lally thought the matter over, and decided in the negative. “If you do not love my mamma, you must give her the bonbons back, Lally,” suggested Bessie; and she made a feint of taking the sweets away, which drew forth such a wail from the child as attracted public attention to the trio. “Hush, hush, hush!” exclaimed Bessie. “I would not have believed you could have been so naughty. There, kiss mamma, and make friends with her. You are to give me half those bonbons, you know!” To which arrangement Lally demurred; but, eventually, being greatly under the dominion of Miss Ormson’s superior will, with much trouble of mind she consented to this division; and under the cedar-tree she and Bessie parted the spoil. Such high matters are not, however, to be lightly settled; and they were still engaged in deciding who was to have the odd sweetmeat, when, looking up from her lap where the treasures were laid in two heaps, Bessie saw Mrs. Dudley standing beside her. “Come in, dear,” said Heather, “the dew is beginning to fall, you will catch cold;” and as she spoke she laid her hand gently on Bessie’s shoulder. Bessie turned and pressed her lips to the white soft fingers; then she tossed the two heaps into one, and saying to Lally, “You shall have them all,” rose and faced Mrs. Dudley. “I saw Gilbert yesterday,” observed the latter. “Yes?” The monosyllable Mrs. Dudley understood to be interrogative. “And I asked him to come down here.” “Thank you very much; he will be glad to do so.” “I like him greatly.” “He is greatly to be liked?” and Bessie, as she said this, slipped her hand, which was cold as ice, into Mrs. Dudley’s. “And devoted to you,” went on Heather. “I wish I were more worthy his devotion,” answered Bessie. “I wish I could understand you,” was Mrs. Dudley’s answer, after a pause. “I do not think there is much to understand,” said Bessie; but her heart gave a great leap as she spoke, for she knew she was telling a truthful woman a falsehood. “I only meant that you strike me as being a little odd at times,” remarked Heather, gently. “Not more odd than you strike me as being,” was the reply. Then, noticing that her companion seemed surprised, she went on, “Cannot you comprehend? won’t you comprehend that to a girl brought up as I have been, a woman such as you are is an enigma, a wonder, a never-ending, always beginning puzzle?”