"And yet he meets her very often. Ah, well, young men do not tell all their little secrets. Of course Mr. Erle's life is very different from ours; we are working bees, Fern, and he is a butterfly of fashion. When he comes here he makes himself very bright and pleasant, but we know nothing of his real life." "No, of course not." But a sort of chill passed over Fern as Crystal spoke. Why did she say these sort of things so often to her? did she think it wrong for her and Mr. Erle to be friends? was she warning her, and against what? Well, it was true she knew nothing of his life excepting what he chose to tell her. He had never mentioned this Miss Selby, though, according to Percy's account, he met her very often. Few ladies dined at Belgrave House, but to-night she was to be there. For the first time Fern's gentle nature felt jarred and out of tune. The bright little fire had burned hollow; there was a faint clinging mist from the fog outside; the cricket had ceased to chirp. Fern glanced round her disconsolately; how poor and shabby it must look to him, she thought, after the rooms at Belgrave House. But the next moment she started up in a conscience-stricken way. "There is mother's step, Crystal, and we have neglected the fire; poor mother, and she will be so tired and cold." And Fern drove back her rebellious thoughts, bravely, and seized the bellows and manipulated the fire, while Crystal drew up the old easy-chair, and placed a footstool. Mrs. Trafford smiled as she saw these preparations for her comfort; her pale face relaxed from its gravity as Fern waited upon her, taking off her bonnet, and smoothing the beautiful gray hair with eager loving fingers. "Thank you, dearest," she said, drawing down the girl's face to hers; "and now tell me what you have both been doing." "Percy and Mr. Erle have been here," was Fern's answer, as she took her place at her mother's feet; "and Percy left his love for you, and was so sorry to miss you." Mrs. Trafford made no comment on this piece of information, but she glanced quickly at Crystal; perhaps something in the girl's face warned her, for she at once changed the subject, to her daughter's surprise, and, without asking any questions, began telling them about the invalid. But after they had chatted for a few minutes, Crystal rose, and, saying that she was very tired, bade them both good-night. Mrs. Trafford looked after the girl anxiously, and then her glance fell on her daughter. Fern was looking into the fire, dreamily, and there was a sort of wistfulness in her eyes; when her mother touched her gently she started. "My little sunbeam does not look quite so bright tonight," she said, tenderly. "I am afraid you have been tiring yourself, Fern, trying to finish Florence's frock."