At last, when it seemed to her that this was hopeless--that he would not take the hint broadly furnished by her unfinished letter--she did put down the pen, and, pushing her writing-book away, drew towards her the little basket of flowers from the conservatory, which the gardener brought her every day. They were very waxen and winterly, as flowers still are in January, and she took them up one by one, arranging them so as to make the most of such colour as there was. The rector had turned at the end of his little promenade when she did so, and came back rapidly when he heard the little movement. She was aware of the quickened step, and said, smiling, “Well, has the snow begun at last?” “There is no question of snow,” he said hurriedly, and Katherine heard with astonishment the panting of his breath, and looked up--to see a very flushed and anxious countenance directed towards her. Mr. Stanley was a handsome man of his years, but his was a style which demanded calm and composure and the tranquillity of an even mind to do it justice. He was excited now, which was very unbecoming; his cheeks were flushed, his lips parted with hasty breathing. “Katherine,” he said, “it is something much more important than--any change outside.” He waved his hand almost contemptuously at the window, as if the snow was a slight affair, not worth mentioning. “I am afraid,” he said, standing with his hand on the table looking down upon her, yet rather avoiding her steady, half-wondering look, “that you are too little self-conscious to have observed lately--any change in me.” “I don’t know,” she said faltering, looking up at him; “is there anything the matter, really? I have thought once or twice--that you looked a little disturbed.” It flashed into her mind that there might be something wrong in the family, that Bertie might have been extravagant, that help might be wanted from her rich father. Oh, poor Mr. Stanley! if his handsome stately calm should be disturbed by such a trouble as that? Katherine’s look grew very kind, very sympathising as she looked up into his face. “I have often, I am sure, looked disturbed. Katherine, it is not a small matter when a man like me finds his position changed in respect to--one like yourself--by an overmastering sentiment which has taken possession of him he knows not how, and which he is quite unable to restrain.” “Rector!” cried Katherine astonished, looking up at him with even more feeling than before. “Mr. Stanley! have I done anything?” “That shows,” he cried, with something like a stamp of his foot and an impatient movement of his hand, “how much I have to contend with. You think of me as nothing but your clergyman--a--a sort of pedagogue--and your thought is that he is displeased--that there is something he is going to find fault with----”