"Oh, I say, Janet dear, don't be hard upon a poor busy fellow. You know why I am away so much. All for your sake, pet," he whispered earnestly; "to make ourselves thoroughly independent, and you a home of which you may be proud." There was a slight catching in Janet Praed's breath, as she said jerkily, and with a show of flippancy, to hide the emotion from which she suffered, for self-accusation was busy with her just then, and a pang or two shot through her as she contrasted the frank, honest manner of her betrothed, and his words, so full of simple honest affection, with others to which she had in a foolish, half-jealous spirit listened again and again-- "Oh yes, I know," she said, curling up her pretty lip, and speaking hastily to hide her feelings; "but you might have called." "Now, Janet, love, don't tease me. How could I, dear?" "Well, then, you might have written. A whole week away and not a line." "Gently, my own darling, judge, guide, and counsellor in one," he cried warmly. "I might have written, and ought to have written, but I have been, oh so busy all day, and when I got back to quarters, there was the Major to talk to me, and I could not slight Miss Gurdon." "The Major--Miss Gurdon? May I ask who these people are?" "Oh, a very jolly old sort of fellow, who lives close to the mine, with an only daughter. He insisted upon my staying there while I was down, and I wasn't sorry; for--O Janet! let me whisper it in your lovely little shell of an ear," he continued playfully--"the miner's cottage I slept at one night was not comfortable; it was grubby, and oh, those fleas! If it had not been for my stout walking-stick--" "What sort of a person is Miss Gurdon?" said Janet, interrupting him quickly. "Oh, very nice and ladylike." "Pretty?" "Pretty! Well, you would hardly call it pretty. A sad, pensive face, very sweet and delicate, and with the look of one who had known trouble. There seemed to be some secret about father and daughter." "Oh!" said Janet softly, and the colour came into her cheeks very warmly. "And you were very comfortable there?" "Yes, very," said Clive emphatically. "Too comfortable to remember me and write, of course." "O Janet, my darling!" he said tenderly, as he passed his arm about her waist, "how can you be such a jealous little thing! As if I could think of any one but you. You were with me night and day. It was always what is Janet doing? how does she look? and is she thinking of me? Whether I was scrambling about down in the mine like a mud-lark, or more decent and talking to Miss Gurdon of an evening in their tiny drawing-room." "About me, of course," said Janet coldly. "No, dear," said Clive innocently, "I never mentioned your name. I dared not, pet, for fear they should laugh at me, and think what a great goose I was. For I am, pet. Once I begin talking to any one about you, I can't leave off." "Indeed!" she said sarcastically.