What was it? Dress, manner, ornament, tone of voice, expression of face? They all mixed together, and produced the effect of first love in the heart of the maid for the mistress. Never had Mrs. Mortomley chanced to have so little to say to a servant as to this Esther Hummerson, who for nearly a year pursued the even tenour of her way, finding the place comfortable, the work light, Dolly unexacting, and Miss Halling sometimes a little hard to please. The gala days at Homewood were over. The cake and ale of life had lost their flavour for more than one inmate of the house. Anxiety, illness, pecuniary difficulties, trade annoyances, made Mortomley anything rather than the host of old; whilst Dolly, even if the shadow lying over her husband had not oppressed her also, must have grown changed and dull by reason of the constant presence of Miss Halling's friends. Mr. Deane was becoming impatient to take home his bride. The alterations considered necessary on such an occasion were finished; the workmen had put the last touches necessary to make his mansion perfect. The new dining-room was papered with the darkest flock paper ever manufactured by man. Miss Deane had found a house to suit her at Brighton, and everything at last was ready for Miss Halling's reception. Miss Halling, however, did not desire to leave Homewood till she could leave with a flourish of trumpets announcing the fact, and the marriage had consequently been deferred, which is almost as bad plan to adopt with marriages as with auctions. All at once, so it appeared to Dolly, a gloom had settled over Homewood; through all the months November weather seemed to prevail in the once sun-shiny rooms. Things had arrived at a pass when dress was a vanity and jewellery a snare. Jones, who had a high idea of the importance attached to her office, would have worried her mistress to death at this juncture, but Esther, who had never yet been in any situation where she was permitted to take much upon herself, simply performed what work came to her hand, and did as she was told. Evening after evening she spread out the brightest and prettiest dresses, hoping to see Mrs. Mortomley array herself like a second Queen of Sheba; and if she sighed when directed to put them away again, Dolly never heard her; if she lamented over the non-exhibition of ornaments which were never worn, she took care to give no audible expression to her feelings. Love makes the foolish wise. Eventually affection for Mrs. Mortomley opened her eyes to the real state of affairs. Her mistress was miserable. In that burst of tears Dolly understood the girl knew this. "I will tell her all," said Mrs. Mortomley mentally; and ere she slept she did. Under the circumstances, perhaps, a bold experiment, but successful.