'Pretty! Pretty isn't the word, George, and a moonstruck poet like you ought to know better. Why, she's simply exquisite. Such a lovely quiet smile for a home as she has! George, is she awfully stuck up?' 'Not at all. She is wickeder than you.' 'Now, George, if there is one thing I hate it's a paragon, and if such a lovely girl as that was as wicked as I, she would be a paragon. Wicked as I! Why, she looks like an angel.' 'And so does little Alice, now,' laughed Nevill. In the meantime Mrs Osborne had led Marie to her room. On the way she had said little nothings, mere commonplaces about the things they passed and the view from the windows. 'This is your room, my dear,' said Mrs Osborne, as they entered. 'I hope you will find it comfortable. If you want anything let me know. That is the Avon, there. This place would be perfect only for the floods.' She shut the door and sat down. 'The house is, as you see, on a little hill. We are not quite enough out of the town for my taste; but Mr Osborne built the place before we were married, and of course I have lived in it all my life quite contented. 'We are a slow-moving people down here, my dear. Mr Osborne was a stanch Conservative, and did not wish to alter the plan of houses in use a hundred years ago. He said what had been good enough for his father was good enough for him. There are other branches of his family that were more lucky than his. But we must not grumble, my dear; we must not grumble. I have had a rough and a smooth time of it. When Mr Osborne died I had my troubles, besides the loss of the best of men. A good deal of our income went with him, as he had only a life interest in a large portion of the property; when he died a good deal of it went back to the head of the family. I am talking to you quite freely, my dear, as if you were a member of the family.' Marie coloured and bowed. 'I am quick in my likings and dislikings, and I like you; and when you are George's wife--' Marie blushed. 'When you are his wife you will know all the family history; but I am an old woman, and old women like best to talk of the past I don't weary you, do I, child?' 'No, Mrs Osborne; it is exceedingly kind of you to speak to me in this way. It puts me quite at my ease. You could not do me a greater kindness.' The girl looked up, and there were tears of gratitude in her dark deep eyes. Mrs Osborne took her hand and stroked the back softly, as she continued,--