as engaged to a gentleman, putting on a multitude of little airs, lording it over her sisters. No doubt this was how she would show her success. He knew nothing whatever about Nancy, but as his object was to destroy her hopes, he represented her to himself, unconsciously, as affected by the very poorest version possible of these hopes. It was natural. While, however, he was pursuing these thoughts and his way together, he suddenly encountered, coming round a corner, one of the sisters, whom he had met on the previous night. They came so suddenly upon each other, that both paused, with the slight shock of almost personal contact. “Oh, Mr. Durant!” cried Sarah Jane. She blushed “to be caught” in her cotton frock and shabby hat, running out in the morning--not such was the apparel in which she would have chosen to be seen by a gentleman--but Sarah Jane was a born flirt, and even her frock did not subdue her. She would not lose the opportunity. And to tell the truth, the cotton frock was much more becoming, had she known it, than the cheap travesties of “the fashion” which she generally wore. “I am very glad to have met you, Miss Bates,” he said. “I was trying to find the way to your house.” “Oh, la!” said Sarah Jane, her eyes dancing. This was something to the purpose, for why should he come to the house so soon but for _some reason_? And it could not be Matilda. “But I ain’t Miss Bates, I’m the youngest,” she said. “If you’ll just come two or three steps down this street first, I’ll show you the way. I’ve got some ribbon to match--look here, Matty’s new Sunday bonnet--but I shan’t be a moment, and I’ll show you the way.” Durant consented; it seemed to him the best chance he could have had of acquiring information. He turned and walked down the street by the side of the girl, who was half-wild with pride and pleasure. She could see one or two faces glance out through shop-windows with surprise and envy. To be seen walking along the street with such a gentleman-like-looking man! There was nobody in Underhayes, except Arthur, who looked so distinguished, not even Colonel Hooker, who was supposed by everybody to be the glass of fashion. This was a delusion of fancy on Sarah Jane’s part, for Durant’s appearance was nowise remarkable; but as life is but thought, the idea was quite as good to her as if it had been true. “I go all the messages,” said Sarah Jane. “I think it is very hard, especially as the girl is there, doing next to nothing; but they say they can’t trust the girl. Girls _are_ very queer; they are not to be depended upon. I am sure, the trouble mamma has with ours!” They had not kept a girl very long, and Sarah Jane was still a little proud of it as of a sign of social distinction. She turned to her new friend for sympathy, though reflecting, as she did so, that probably he was living in lodgings, and had not in his own person either the pride or the difficulty of managing a servant of any kind.