Dr. Brunton's visit had exceeded its ordinary limits, and he rose to go. The girl opened the door for him, and as he was passing out he said to her, "Are you often here?" "Gey an' often: Bell's an auld friend o' my mither's, and I run over to speir for her aye when I've time." "Shall you be here to-morrow?" "Oh, ay: I'll be here the morn and the next day, and maybe the day after: I'll be often here as lang as I'm at hame." "And where will you be when you are not at home?" "Weel, sir"--and she hesitated a little--"weel, sir, where can the like o' me be but at service? We hae nae muckle choice, folk like us." "Choice!" thought the doctor. "At service! Why, to be served by a being wearing such a face must be like being waited on by an angel: she might have her choice of the crowned heads of Europe." He sprang into his gig: all his sense of fatigue had vanished, and a new and strange feeling had taken possession of him. "And they are going to send her to service!" he said to himself. "What a shame!" And yet he knew he was unreasonable. As she herself had said, what choice was there in her rank of life? and it was only her beautiful face that made it seem at all out of place; but what an _only_ that was! "Why," he thought, "I have been five and twenty years in the world, and I have never seen a face to match it--never!" At dinner that day Dr. Brunton was rather preoccupied and taciturn till his sister asked him if he had yet happened to see Lady Louisa Moor. "No," he said, "I have not had that pleasure." "Well, it is a pleasure," she said: "I think she is as pretty a girl as I ever saw." "Pretty!" said he: "why, I saw a girl to-day--a hind's daughter--so beautiful that I can't think how I never heard of her before: her beauty is a thing to be spoken about." "The style of good looks that pleases one person often does not please another," said Miss Robertson. "But she is not good-looking--I tell you no one would speak of good looks in connection with her--she is simply and perfectly beautiful; and she is going to service. Imagine yon creature brushing your boots and bringing them to you! The bare idea is profanation. She only wants education to make her a thing to be worshiped; but she is quite uncultured: I shouldn't wonder if she can't even read or write decently, but she has no want of natural ability: everything she said proved that." "I am afraid you have fallen in love," said Miss Robertson. "I am afraid of it," he said. "I think hardly," said his sister. "I think you have more sense, James, than to be taken with a pretty face belonging to a young lady who can neither read nor write." "Millions of people can read and write," said he, "but how many have a face like hers?" "I must find her out and have a look at her," said Miss Robertson. "Wait, James," said Mary, "till you see Lady Louisa."