Her mirth has astonished him. She, the pale, frightened girl, to laugh like that! There has been no loudness in her mirth, either; it has been soft and refined, if very gay and happy. She has laughed as a girl might who has been born to happiness in every way—to silken robes and delicate surroundings, and all the paraphernalia that go to make up the life of those born into families that can count their many grandfathers. Once or twice he has told himself half impatiently—angry with the charge laid upon his unwitting shoulders—that the girl is good-looking. Now he tells himself something more: that she is lovely, with that smile upon her face, as she sits—all unconscious of his criticism—with Tommy in her arms, and ‘Eyes Upglancing brightly mischievous, a spring Of brimming laughter welling on the brink Of lips like flowers, small caressing hands Tight locked,’ around the lucky Tommy’s waist. But now she puts Tommy (who has evidently fallen a slave to her charms, and repudiates loudly her right to give him away like this) down on his sturdy feet, and comes a little forward to where Susan is standing. ‘I’m afraid I must go now,’ says she. ‘Oh, not yet,’ says Susan; ‘there is plenty of time. It isn’t as if you had to drive five miles to get to your home.’ ‘Still—I think—’ She looks so anxious that Susan, who is always charming, understands her. ‘If you must go,’ whispers she sweetly—‘if you would rather—well, then, do go. But to-morrow, and every other day, you must come back to us. Carew—’ ‘I’m here,’ says Carew, coming up, and blushing as well as the best of girls as he takes Ella’s hand. ‘I’ll see you home,’ says he. ‘I don’t think it will be necessary,’ says Wyndham shortly. Then he stops, confounded at his own imprudence, considering all the circumstances. Yet the words have fallen from him without volition of his own. ‘The fact is,’ says he quickly, ‘I too am going now, and will be able to see Miss Moore safely within her gate.’ Carew frowns, and Susan comes to the rescue. ‘We’ll all go,’ cries she gaily. ‘The very thing,’ says Crosby. ‘That will give me a little more of your society, as I also must drag myself away.’ The ‘your’ is so very general that nobody takes any notice of it, and they all go up the small avenue together. ‘You were surprised to see me here?’ says Ella in a nervous whisper to Wyndham, who has doggedly taken possession of her, in spite of the knowledge that such a proceeding will in the end tell against him. ‘I confess I was’—stiffly. ‘You are displeased?’ ‘On the contrary, you know I always advised you to show yourself—to defy your enemies. You can defy them, you know.’ ‘Yes; but—I mean that, after all I said to you about my dislike, my fear, of leaving the Cottage, you must think it queer of me to be here to-day.’