"As ever, I am at your orders," he grunted, and lighting a cigar, he subsided into a great chair to read the papers, while Lady Anningford went on to the saloon. And presently, when all the departing guests were gone, Ethelrida linked her arm in that of her dear friend, and drew her with her up to her sitting-room. "I have heaps to tell you, Anne!" she said, while she pushed her gently into a big low chair, and herself sank into the corner of her sofa. Ethelrida was not a person who curled up among pillows, or sat on rugs, or little stools. All her movements, even in her most intimate moments of affection with her friend, were dignified and reserved. "Darling, I am thrilled," Lady Anningford responded, "and I guess it is all about Mr. Markrute--and oh, Ethelrida, when did it begin?" "He has been thinking of me for a long time, Anne--quite eighteen months--but I--" she looked down, while a tender light grew in her face, "I only began to be interested the night we dined with him--it is a little more than a fortnight ago--the dinner for Tristram's engagement. He said a number of things not like any one else, then, and he made me think of him afterwards--and I saw him again at the wedding--and since he has been here--and do you know, Anne, I have never loved any one before in my life!" "Ethelrida, you darling, I know you haven't!" and Anne bounded up and gave her a hug. "And I knew you were perfectly happy, and had had a blissful afternoon when you came down to tea yesterday. Your whole face was changed, you pet!" "Did I look so like a fool, Anne?" Ethelrida cried. Then Lady Anningford laughed happily, as she answered with a roguish eye, "It was not exactly that, darling, but your dear cheeks were scarlet, as though they had been exquisitely kissed!" "Oh!" gasped Ethelrida, flaming pink, as she laughed and covered her face with her hands. "Perhaps he knows how to make love nicely--I am no judge of such things--in any case, he makes me thrill. Anne, tell me, is that--that curious sensation as though one were rather limp and yet quivering--is that just how every one feels when they are in love?" "Ethelrida, you sweet thing!" gurgled Anne. Then Ethelrida told her friend about the present of books, and showed them to her, and of all the subtlety of his ways, and how they appealed to her. "And oh, Anne, he makes me perfectly happy and sure of everything; and I feel that I need never decide anything for myself again in my life!" Which, taking it all round, was a rather suitable and fortunate conviction for a man to have implanted in his lady love's breast, and held out the prospect of much happiness in their future existence together.