"Put down the knife and hould yer oncivil tongue, yer dafty!" exclaimed Marks. "What the devil d'yer mean by it! Walk in, young gentleman, y'ere welcome to play with the cat as long as yer like. Take a seat, Miss," and he brought forward one of the chairs and dusted it. But Frances took no heed of the invitation. "I am very angry with you, Bertie," she said, "What will Hannah say? Come away?" But Bertie would not, but went up to Jane with the kitten in his arms. "Very well," replied Frances, "I shall call Hannah," but in reality she went outside and waited for him, while Matthew, hat in hand, followed and talked to the young lady. "I wish pussy was my very own," said Bertie presently, after playing with it for a few moments. Jane had seated herself in a chair with her face half turned from him and paid no heed to his remark. "Will you give it me?" he asked in his childish way, pulling at her dress to attract her attention. "It isn't mine," she replied. Bertie put the kitten in her lap. "Isn't it pretty?" he said. "Don't you love it?" "No." "Do you love the big cat?" "No." "Don't you love anything?" "No. Nothing." "What's your name?" "Jane." "You're a naughty, cross woman, Jane, and _I_ shan't love you." "You don't need to," she replied. "Go away!" But Bertie continued playing with the kitten still laying in her lap. As he stooped his little face over it, his soft, dimpled cheek touched Jane's hand, while his fair, curly hair waved almost across the other. Presently Jane raised her hand, took off his cap and stroked his head gently. Bertie looked up half surprised. "Do you think it pretty?" he asked. "I don't know." But she did not take her hand away. "Would you like to have some of it?" he asked again, as Jane passed her fingers through one of the silky curls. "Cut it. Where's the scissors?" "There on the table over against the window," she replied. Bertie ran and fetched them, and presently a curl shiny and bright fell in Jane's lap. "There, that's my present," he said, "now won't you give me kitty?" "She's too small; she mustn't go from her mother," said Jane, lifting the curl and smoothing it softly. "Would her mother cry?" "Oh my God!" exclaimed Jane, burying her face in her hands, "you'll break my heart!" "But would her mother cry? Would she cry very much?" persisted Bertie, striving to draw her hands away. "Yes," replied Jane, "cry and go mad, and curse those who took him. But curses don't kill, ah no! they don't kill; they only wear the heart away." The child drew away, half frightened. "Bertie! Bertie! are you coming?" called Frances. "Good bye," he said, shyly. "You'll send me kitty by and by, won't you?" "Yes,--for the sake of the curl," she replied, wrapping it in paper, and placing it in her bosom. But Bertie only heard the "Yes." "Send it for me; only for me," he said. "Yes, for Master Bertie." "Bertie Vavasour," he said.