“But don’t you think it was very silly of Beauty to choose only a rose, when her father asked what he should bring her? I have always thought that ostentation of humility spoilt an otherwise amiable character.” I laughed. “Poor girl, think how hard her punishment was! I don’t think, if I had married the prince, I could ever have forgotten that he had been a beast, and I should have always been in fear of his changing back again.” “The true story is, you know, that he always remained a beast, but he gave her so many diamonds and beautiful things that she overlooked his ugliness. Like that the story happens every day.” I only shook my head gently; I could not contradict Mr. Rayner, but I would not believe him. “Now, if you were Beauty, what would you ask papa to bring you?” I laughed shyly. “A prince?” I blushed and shook my head. “No, not yet,” I said, smiling rather mischievously. “A ring, a bracelet, a brooch?” “Oh, no!” “A Murray’s Grammar, a pair of globes, a black-board?” “No, Mr. Rayner. I should say a rose like Beauty--a beautiful Marshal Niel rose. I couldn’t think of anything lovelier than that.” “That is a large pale yellow rose, isn’t it? I can’t get it to grow here. What a pity we are not in a fairy tale, Miss Christie, and then the soil wouldn’t matter! We would have Marshal Niel roses growing up to the chimney-pots.” We had sauntered back to the dining-room window, and there, staring out upon us in a strange fixed way, was Mrs. Rayner. She continued to look at us, and especially at me, as if fascinated, until we were close to the window, when she turned with a start; and when we entered the room the intent expression had faded from her lustreless eyes, and she was her usual lifeless self again. At dinner-time Mr. Rayner did not appear; I was too shy to ask Mrs. Rayner the reason, and I could only guess, when tea-time came and again there was no place laid for him, that he had gone away somewhere. I was sure of it when he had not reappeared the next morning, and then I became conscious of a slow but sure change, a kind of gradual lightening, in Mrs. Rayner’s manner. She did not become talkative or animated like any other woman; but it was as if a statue of stone had become a statue of flesh, feeling the life in its own veins and grown conscious of the life around it. This change brought one strange symptom: she had grown nervous. Instead of wearing always an unruffled stolidity, she started at any unexpected sound, and a faint tinge of color would mount to her white face at the opening of a distant door or at a step in the passage. This change must certainly, I thought, be due to her husband’s departure; but it was hard to tell whether his absence made her glad or sorry, or whether any such vivid feeling as gladness or grief caused the alteration in her manner.