It was uncommonly pleasant to think that such a woman was interested in him; would look forward to his presence, would regret his absence, and would associate him with her thoughts and actions. What an earnest, impulsive, sensitive creature she was! She had seen in an instant what had annoyed him yesterday! Not like Georgie--he felt a slight twinge of conscience as he thought of her--not like Georgie, who had supposed he was vexed at something she had said, poor child! No; that other woman was really wonderful--so appreciative and intelligent. How cleverly she had befooled that hard-headed old Winton for the sake of keeping things square! Winton was like a child in her hands; and though he could not bear ladies' society, and was supposed to be never happy except when shooting or smoking, had cantered by her side and tried to make civil little speeches, and bowed and smiled like a fellow just fresh from Eton. And how cleverly she had managed that business about their getting away when she wanted to speak to him! Poor little thing, how frightened she was too at the idea of his being angry, as though one could be angry with a creature like that! And how pretty she looked when her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled! Gad! she must feel something stronger than interest in him for her to show all that. Yes, by Jove!--there was no use in denying it to himself any longer,--this little woman was thoroughly fascinated. He recalled the events of that homeward ride--the talk, the looks, the long, long hand-clasp, the passionate manner in which, just before they reached the house, she had implored him to remember that she counted on him, and on him alone, for advice and aid in the troubles of her life. By the way what were the troubles of her life? She had dwelt very much upon them generally, but had never thought it necessary to go into detail. She spoke frequently of being tied to an invalid husband, of having been intended originally for something better than a sick man's nurse; but that could not prey upon her mind very much, as she was scarcely ever with her husband, or if it did, it was not a case in which any advice or any aid of his would be of much use to her. No; the advice and aid, and the intimate friendship, were devices by which she was endeavouring to blind herself and him to the real state of the case, to the fact that she was deeply, madly in love with him, and that he--well, he--What was that? a rustle of a dress in the passage outside, a low tap at the door. Can it be she? The door opened, and a woman entered--not Mrs. Hammond, but Miss Gillespie. Sir Charles Mitford's heart had beat high with expectation; its palpitation continued when he recognized his visitor, though from a different cause. He had risen, and remained standing before the fire; but Miss Gillespie made herself comfortable in a velvet _causeuse_ on the other side of the snug fireplace, and pointing to his chair, said: