“We might cure him of that, Mrs. Rossiter. If I could only have him down there at Brook Park for another week, I am sure he would come to.” Mrs. Rossiter, however, could not say that she thought it probable that her son would be induced soon to pay another visit to Brook Park. A week after this Lady Wanless absolutely did find her way into the Major’s presence at the Horse Guards,--but without much success. The last words at that interview only shall be given to the reader,--the last words as they were spoken both by the lady and by the gentleman. “Then I am to see my girl die of a broken heart?” said Lady Wanless, with her handkerchief up to her eyes. “I hope not, Lady Wanless; but in whatever way she might die, the fault would not be mine.” There was a frown on the gentleman’s brow as he said this which cowed even the lady. As she went back to Slowbridge that afternoon, and then home to Brook Park, she determined at last that the game must be looked upon as played out. There was no longer any ground on which to stand and fight. Before she went to bed that night she sent for Georgiana. “My darling child,” she said, “that man is unworthy of you.” “I always thought he was,” said Georgiana. And so there was an end to that little episode in the family of the Wanlesses. CHAPTER X. THE BIRD THAT PECKED AT THE WINDOW. THE bird that had flown in at the window and had been made welcome, had flown away ungratefully. Let him come again pecking as he might at the window, no more crumbs of love should be thrown to him. Alice, with a steady purpose, had resolved on that. With all her humble ways, her continual darning of stockings, her cutting of bread and butter for the children, her pushing of the perambulator in the lanes, there was a pride about her, a knowledge of her own dignity as a woman, which could have been stronger in the bosom of no woman of title, of wealth, or of fashion. She claimed nothing. She had expected no admiration. She had been contented to take the world as it came to her, without thinking much of love or romance. When John Rossiter had first shown himself at Beetham, after his return from India, and when he had welcomed her so warmly,--too warmly,--as his old playfellow, no idea had occurred to her that he would ever be more to her than her old playfellow. Her own heart was too precious to herself to be given away idly to the first comer. Then the bird had flown in at the window, and it had been that the coming of the stranger had been very sweet to her. But, even for the stranger, she would not change her ways,--unless, perchance, some day she might appertain to the stranger. Then it would be her duty to fit herself entirely to him. In the meantime, when he gave her little hints that something of her domestic slavery might be discontinued, she would not abate a jot from her duties. If he liked to come with her when she pushed the children, let him come. If he cared to see her when she was