"Jean, it is nearly time for you to go home," said Mr. Trevelyan, as he turned away. The tiny baronet, with a parting glance at Jean, trotted in the rear of the retiring two. He was desperately in awe of Mr. Trevelyan, and seldom by choice approached within fifty yards of him; so Evelyn was likely to have what she thoroughly enjoyed, a tête-à-tête talk with the Rector. His characteristic air of dry attention did not repel her, as it would have repelled many girls; and there was nothing small or nagging about his severity. She felt the man to be thoroughly genuine in all he said or did. If the path of duty should lead him through fire and water, he would follow it unhesitatingly. Whatever his faults might be—and faults, of course, he had, being human—self-indulgence was not one of them. Evelyn's keen insight read him truly. Jem would have given all he possessed, which was not much, to follow Evelyn along the path, and into the "Brow" grounds; no matter at what distance. But gentlemanly feeling rendered this impossible. He stood like a statue, gazing fixedly till the three had vanished, unconscious of Jean's watchful attention. "Well—" he said at length, and he made an effort to pull himself together, to awake to common life once more. "Well, Jean?" "Do you think Evelyn very pretty?" asked Jean, with a child's directness. "Is that why you stare at so?" Jem felt ruffled. His worst enemy could not lawfully accuse him of anything so objectionable as "staring." "Rather a rude remark, Jean!" "I don't mean to be rude. But you did," asserted Jean. "I beg your pardon! Looking is not staring. A gentleman never stares." "Do you think her very pretty?" repeated Jean, dropping what she counted an unimportant question. "Yes. Don't you?" "Not so much as some people." Jem was amused. He planted himself with his back against a tree, and scanned curiously the straight supple child. "Who is prettier than Miss Devereux, among your acquaintances?" Jean was puzzled. "Miss Devereux isn't pretty. She's too old. Aunt Marie says she is fifty." "Oh, I see. But I mean Miss Evelyn Devereux. I say, Jean, don't you go about talking Of Miss Devereux as fifty years old. She wouldn't like it." "Aunt Marie said so." "You needn't quote Aunt Marie. Come—who is prettier in your estimation than Miss Evelyn Devereux?" The answer was delayed. Jean seemed to be weighing the matter. She said at length composedly: "You!" Jem did laugh. He had a pleasant musical laugh, round and full like his voice. It rang out now, not loudly but irresistibly. Jem held on to a bough, and bent with his merriment; while his eyes danced, and fairly ran over with tears of fun. "Jean, you are past everything. It's the best compliment I ever had in my life," cried Jem, nearly convulsed. "It's true," sturdily answered Jean. Jem mastered himself, though every muscle in his face was twitching yet. "Are you sure you don't mean Oswald?"