"I think--(_a long pause_)--I think you are an angel, Miss Capel." "Do you, Mr. Humphries," said Margaret unconsciously; her whole mind occupied with Harriet's illness, and the unkind indifference displayed by Mr. Gage. For a little while Mr. Humphries had to endure a paroxysm of bashfulness; when he recovered, the first words he uttered were: "I like you very much!" Margaret, who was fitting a steel pen into a mother of pearl handle, replied: "you are very good, Mr. Humphries. Is not this a pretty pen?" He took it in his clumsy way, and then began to laugh. "I--I meant," he began; but here his courage failed him, and he gave her back the pen, looking suspiciously at Mr. Singleton and George Gage, who were conversing in whispers at the other end of the room. "Can you tell me what o'clock it is, Mr. Humphries?" asked Margaret. "Twenty minutes to eleven." "Thank you." "I shall not hunt to-morrow, Miss Capel," said Mr. Humphries, "somehow--" He wanted an interpreter; "somehow," meant that while Harriet was ill, he did not think he should quite enjoy a run with the hounds. Margaret understood his meaning and smiled. Mr. Humphries returned her smile with his usual breadth of expression, revealing a perfect semicircle of dazzling teeth, and then said: "Coming home from hunting, last time--" "Yes, Mr. Humphries." "Gage, and I--" "Yes, Mr. Humphries." "I wish you would say yes always!" Here a prodigious smile, and the usual symptoms of vanishing under the table. "But it would not make sense always, Mr. Humphries," replied Margaret. "You said that day, you did not believe that people could be in love twice." "I thought you said so, and I agreed to it," said Margaret, still looking at the pen-holder. "No, I didn't; you did." "Oh! was that it? I think it must be near eleven." Margaret laid down the pen, and rose to leave the room. Mr. Humphries thought he had better make haste. "Miss Capel, I say, were you ever in love?" he stammered in much confusion. Margaret was certainly a little startled. She had been so engrossed by her own thoughts that she had not observed the progress her companion was making. "If I ever have been," she said tranquilly, "as I am now single, Mr. Humphries, you must suppose it would be an unpleasant subject for me to touch upon." He seemed struck by her calm, grave manner, but he stumbled on. "Because, I was in love once--with a very nice girl--when I was at Christ Church; but, for all that, I feel as if--I should be in love again--" Margaret held out her hand, and said gently, but coldly, "Good night, Mr. Humphries." He took her hand, kissed it, seemed very much inclined to cry, but let her pass him without a word. He had perfectly understood her manner. CHAPTER VII. Parlar di te non voglio, e fra le labbra Ho sempre il nome tuo: vò dal pensiero Cancellar quel sembiante e in ogni oggetto Col pensier lo dipingo. METASTASIO.