"I don't know, Mr Bayle, I--Oh dear me, I ought to be ashamed of myself for speaking like this. Hush! here she is." In effect Millicent came back into the room to where her mother was sitting. "Only a little domestic difficulty, Mr Bayle. Mamma, dear, it is all smoothed away, and Thisbe is very penitent." "And she will bring up the roast potatoes in the napkin, my dear?" "Yes," cried Millicent, laughing merrily, "she has retracted all her opposition, and we are to have two dishes of papa's best." "In napkins, my dear?" cried Mrs Luttrell eagerly; "both in napkins?" "Yes, mamma, in the whitest napkins she can find." She glanced at Christie Bayle's grave countenance, and felt her heart smite her for being so happy and joyous in his presence. "Don't think us childish, Mr Bayle," she said gently. "It is to please my father." He rose and stood by her side for a moment or two. "Childish?" he said in a low voice, "as if I could think such a thing of you." Millicent smiled her thanks, and crossed the room to where Hallam was watching her. The next minute supper was again announced--simple, old-fashioned supper--and Millicent went out on Hallam's arm. "You are going to take me in, Mr Bayle? Well, I'm sure I'd rather," said Mrs Luttrell, "and I can then see, my dear, that you have a good supper. There, I'm saying `my dear' to you again." "It is because I seem so young, Mrs Luttrell," replied Bayle gravely. "Oh no, my dear," said Mrs Luttrell innocently; "it was because you seemed to come among us so like a son, and took to the doctor's way with his garden, and were so nice with Millicent. I used to think that perhaps you two might--Oh, dear me," she cried, checking herself suddenly, "what a tongue I have got! Pray don't take any notice of what I say." There was no change in Christie Bayle's countenance, for the smile hid the pang he suffered as he took in the pleasant garrulous old lady to supper; but that night he paced his room till daybreak, fighting a bitter fight, and asking for strength to bear the agony of his heart. VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE. JAMES THICKENS IS MYSTERIOUS. "I think, previous to taking this step, Sir Gordon, I may ask if you and Mr Dixon are quite satisfied? I believe the books show a state of prosperity." "That does us credit, Mr Hallam," said Sir Gordon quietly. "Yes, Mr Dixon bids me say that he is perfectly satisfied--eh, Mr Trampleasure?" "Quite, Sir Gordon--more than satisfied," replied Mr Trampleasure, who was standing with his hands beneath his coat-tails, balancing himself on toe and heel, and bowing as he spoke with an air that he believed to be very impressive.