She had lived under the same roof with him; she had handed him his coffee in the morning, his tea--ah, how carefully creamed and sugared!--in the evening. She had studied his tastes, and catered for him with unfailing care. She had played Rosellen’s Reverie in G for his delectation every evening during his two visits. She had sung his favourite ballads, and if her voice sometimes failed her on the high notes, she made up in pathos what she wanted in power. These things are not easily to be forgotten by a youthful mind fed upon three-volume novels, and naturally prone to sentiment. ‘Our wedding will be a very quiet affair,’ said John Treverton, presently; ‘Laura wishes it to be so, and I am of her mind. I shall be glad if you will kindly refrain from talking about it to anyone, Sampson, and you too, Miss Sampson. We don’t want to be objects of interest in the village.’ ‘I will be as dumb as a skin of parchment,’ answered the lawyer, ‘and I know that Eliza will be the soul of discretion.’ Eliza looked up shyly at their guest, her white eyelashes quivering with emotion. ‘I ought to congratulate you, Mr. Treverton,’ she faltered, ‘but it is all so sudden, so startling, that I can hardly find words.’ ‘My dear Miss Sampson, I know your friendly feeling towards me,’ John answered, with tranquil good-nature. Oh, how cool he was, how cruelly indifferent to her feelings! And yet he ought to have known! Had Rosellen’s Reverie, with the soft pedal down, said nothing? Later in the evening John Treverton and his host smoked their cigars _tête-à-tête_ in Mr. Sampson’s office, beside the comfortable hearth, by which the lawyer was fonder of sitting than in his sister’s highly decorated drawing-room, among the starched antimacassars, and chairs that were not to be sat on, and foot-stools that were intended for anything rather than the accommodation of the human foot. This unsociable habit of spending his evenings aloof from the family circle Mr. Sampson excused on the plea of business. The two men sat opposite each other for some time in friendly silence, John Treverton gravely meditative, Mr. Sampson in an agreeable frame of mind. He was congratulating himself on the prospect of retaining his position as agent for the Treverton Estate, which profitable stewardship must have been lost to him if John Treverton had been so besotted in his folly as to forfeit his heritage by refusing to comply with the conditions of his kinsman’s will. ‘I want fully to understand my position,’ said John, presently. ‘Am I free to make what settlement I please upon my future wife?’ ‘You are free to settle anything which you at present possess,’ answered the lawyer. ‘My present possessions amount to something less than a five-pound note.’