"Shortly," answered Patience, in a tone not quite so equable as usual. Patience saw no good in people getting married in general; and she was vexed at the prospect of losing Grace in particular. "She leaves us in a fortnight from this," she continued, alluding to Grace, "and all her thoughts seem to be bent now upon meeting John Pembridge. Could thee bring Anna home for me?" "With pleasure," replied William. "That is well, then. Grace does not deserve to go out to-night, for she wilfully crossed me to-day. Good evening, William." Fossil-case in hand, and the microscope in his pocket, William made the best of his way to Honey Fair. Robert East, Stephen Crouch, Brumm, Thornycroft, Carter, Cross, and some half-dozen others, were crowded round Robert's table. William handed them the fossils and the microscope; told the men to amuse themselves with them for that night, and he would explain more about them on the morrow. He was ever anxious that the men should have some object of amusement as a rallying point on these evenings; anything to keep their interest awakened. Before the half-hour had expired, he was back at Mr. Ashley's. Proverbs had been given up, and Mary was at the piano. Mr. Ashley had been accompanying her on the flute, on which instrument he was a brilliant player, and when William entered she was singing a duet with Herbert Dare. Anna--disobedient Anna--was seated, listening with all her ears and heart to the music, her up-turned countenance quite wonderful to look upon in its rapt delight. "I think you could sing," spoke Henry Ashley to her, in an undertone, after watching her while the song lasted. Anna shook her head. "I may not try," she said, raising her blue eyes to him for one moment, and then dropping them. "The time may come when you may," returned Henry, in a deeper whisper. She did not answer, she did not lift her eyes; but the faintest possible smile parted her rosy lips--a smile which seemed to express a consciousness that perhaps that time might come. And Henry, shy and sensitive, stood apart and gazed upon her, his heart beating. "Young lady," said William, advancing, "do you know that a special honour has been assigned me to-night? One that concerns you." Anna raised her eyes now. She felt as much at ease with William as she did with her father or Patience. "What dost thee say, William? An honour?" "That of seeing you safely home. I----" "What's that for?" interrupted Anna. "Where's my father?" "He is not at home this evening. And Patience did not care to send out Grace. I'll take care of you." William could not but observe the sudden flush, the glow of pleasure, or what looked like pleasure, that overspread Anna's countenance at the information. "What's that for?" he thought, echoing her recent words. But Mary began to sing again, and his attention was diverted.