"You are always knitting," the young man said, discontentedly. "No; only when I feel very good," she answered, gravely; "then I knit all kinds of things into my sock." "What sort of things--colours? that thing looks all the same colour to me." "Oh, I do not mean material things, but sorrow and penitence--and the bitterest repentance," she added the last words in a lower tone, and her eyes were concealed under lowered lids; then she sighed. Mr. Lyons sighed also, he had a very good idea what she referred to. "To return to your wishes," said Grace, laughing a little, to carry off a feeling of awkwardness at having shown emotion; "what do you wish to tell me?" "It--it sounds a little frivolous now. I only wanted to say I have tried to get into every agency you can think of. I have gone steadily down the alphabet and picked out everything you can think of. It is quite astonishing how many things there are to be canvassed for. I did the W's yesterday, and the X's and Y's to-day. I took the W's out of their turn because of wine; there are such an enormous number of firms who sell or want to sell _the_ only drinkable wine; and it is a subject I know a little about." "And you got nothing?" "Considerably less than nothing. One question was asked--introductions--references, and, as I had never thought of an introduction, and could refer to no one as to my ability--I was bowed out. I met with civility, I will say; I had on my best coat, and that tells," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "Perhaps something may turn up," Grace answered brightly. "I hope so; you see, I never could do much more than sign my name--my handwriting is simply abominable. It has happened to me to have my address and signature cut out of my own letter and pasted on as the only way of solving the problem of where I lived, and then it sometimes wandered about a good deal before it reached me;" and he laughed at the recollection. Grace laughed with him. "But what is your plan as regards Margaret, my poor darling sister?" she asked, and her countenance changed. "If I was agent to something in which Mr. Drayton was interested I could ask to see him on business, and if I could only get a recommendation or introduction to him all would be easy; once in the house I am not afraid." The young man drew up his head and looked quite ready for anything that might happen. Grace clasped her hands. "I think it is a very good plan," she exclaimed, "and I can help you a little myself. What do you call a manufactory that turns out horrible smells, and kills trees and plants and things." "Artificial manures?" he said, pulling a list out of his pocket and referring to it. "Oh, dear no," said Grace, impatiently, "it makes all the trees look like skeletons. Who ever heard of manure killing anything? it makes them grow." "I spoke without thinking, only remembering that that made an appalling smell, quite enough to kill everything."