“There it is, you see,” Bertram continued, with a little wave of the hand. “You've been so blinded and bedimmed by being deprived of light when a girl, that now, when you see even a very faint ray, it dazzles you and frightens you. That mustn't be so--it needn't, I feel confident. I shall have to teach you how to bear the light. Your eyes, I know, are naturally strong; you were an eagle born: you'd soon get used to it.” Frida lifted them slowly, those beautiful eyes, and met his own with genuine pleasure. “Do you think so?” she asked, half whispering. In some dim, instinctive way she felt this strange man was a superior being, and that every small crumb of praise from him was well worth meriting. “Why, Frida, of course I do,” he answered, without the least sense of impertinence. “Do you think if I didn't I'd have taken so much trouble to try and educate you?” For he had talked to her much in their walks on the hillside. Frida did not correct him for his bold application of her Christian name, though she knew she ought to. She only looked up at him and answered gravely-- “I certainly can't let you take my nieces to Exeter.” “I suppose not,” he replied, hardly catching at her meaning. “One of the girls at that dance the other night told me a great many queer facts about your taboos on these domestic subjects; so I know how stringent and how unreasoning they are. And, indeed, I found out a little bit for myself; for there was one nice girl there, to whom I took a very great fancy; and I was just going to kiss her as I said good-night, when she drew back suddenly, almost as if I'd struck her, though we'd been talking together quite confidentially a minute before. I could see she thought I really meant to insult her. Of course, I explained it was only what I'd have done to any nice girl at home under similar circumstances; but she didn't seem to believe me. And the oddest part of it all was, that all the time we were dancing I had my arm round her waist, as all the other men had theirs round their partners; and at home we consider it a much greater proof of confidence and affection to be allowed to place your arm round a lady's waist than merely to kiss her.” Frida felt the conversation was beginning to travel beyond her ideas of propriety, so she checked its excursions by answering gravely: “Oh, Mr. Ingledew, you don't understand our code of morals. But I'm sure you don't find your East End young ladies so fearfully particular?”