"Indeed they are. Mrs. Heron has given them into my charge, and I am glad of it. Not that I care for all children," said Elizabeth, with the cool impartiality that was wont to drive Percival to the very verge of distraction. "I dislike some children very much, indeed, but, you see, I happen--fortunately for myself--to be fond of Harry, Willie, and Jack." "Fortunately, for yourself, do you say? Fortunately for them! You must be fond of them, indeed. You can have their society all day and every day; and yet you could not spare a single hour to come and dine with us like a rational being. Vivian will think they make a nursery-maid of you, and I verily believe they do!" "What does it signify to us what Mr. Vivian thinks? I don't mind being taken for a nursery-maid at all, if I am only doing my proper work. But I would have come down, Percival, indeed, I would, if little Jack had not seemed so fretful and unwell. I am afraid something really is the matter with his back; he complains so much of pain in it, and cannot sleep at night. I could not leave him while he was crying and in pain, could I?" "What did you do with him?" asked Percival, after a moment's pause. "I walked up and down the room. He went to sleep in my arms." "Of course, you tired yourself out with that great, heavy boy!" "You don't know how light little Jack is; you cannot have taken him in your arms for a long time, Percival," said she, in a hurt tone; "and I am very strong. My hands ought to be of some use to me, if my brain is not." "Your brain is strong enough, and your will is strong enough for anything, but your hands----" "Are they to be useless?" "Yes, they are to be useless," he said, "and somebody else must work for you." "That arrangement would not suit me. I like to work for myself," she answered, smiling. They were standing on opposite sides of a small table on which the portfolio of drawings rested. Percival was holding up one side of the portfolio, and she was placing the sketches one by one upon each other. "Do you know what you look like?" said Percival, suddenly. There was a thrill of pleasurable excitement in his tone, a glow of ardour in his dark eyes. "You look like a tall, white lily to-night, with your white dress and your gleaming hair. The pure white of the petals and the golden heart of the lily have found their match." "I am recompensed for the trouble I took in changing my dress this evening," said Elizabeth, glancing down at it complacently. "I did not expect that it would bring me so poetic a compliment. Thank you, Percival." "'Consider the lilies; they toil not, neither do they spin,'" quoted Percival, recklessly. "Why should you toil and spin?--a more beautiful lily than any one of them. If Solomon in all his glory was not equal to those Judean lilies, then I may safely say that the Queen of Sheba would be beaten outright by our Queen Elizabeth, with her white dress and her golden locks!"