The window was raised, the evening was warm, and the sun by this time setting. It was the pensive hour when solitude is pleasant; when grief is mellowed, and even a thoughtless mind, like mine, is tinged with melancholy. I was thinking now of our recluse neighbour. I had seen him pass, as Miss Grey and I were talking. He still despatched those little notes about the inmates of Malory; for mamma always mentioned, when she wrote to me, in her wanderings on the Continent, that she had heard from Mr. Carmel that I was well, and was out every day with my governess, and so on. I wondered why he had quite given up those little weekly visits, and whether I could have unwittingly offended him. These speculations would recur oftener than perhaps was quite consistent with the disdain I affected on the subject. But people who live in cities have no idea how large a space in one's thoughts, in a solitude like Malory, a neighbour at all agreeable must occupy. I was ruminating in a great arm-chair, with my hand supporting my head, and my eyes fixed on my foot, which was tapping the carpet, when I heard the cold, clear voice of Mr. Carmel at the window. I looked up, and my eyes met his. CHAPTER V. THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK. Our eyes met, I said; they remained fixed for a moment, and then mine dropped. I had been, as it were, detected, while meditating upon this capricious person. I daresay I even blushed; I certainly was embarrassed. He was repeating his salutation, "How d'ye do, Miss Ware?" "Oh, I'm very well, thanks, Mr. Carmel," I answered, looking up; "and--and I heard from mamma on Thursday. They are very well; they are at Genoa now. They think of going to Florence in about three weeks." "I know; yes. And you have no thoughts of joining them?" "Oh! none. I should not like to leave this. They have not said a word about it lately." "It is such a time, Miss Ethel, since I had the pleasure of seeing you--I don't mean, of course, at a distance, but near enough to ask you how you are. I dared not ask to see you too soon, and I thought--I fancied--you wished your walks uninterrupted." I saw that he had observed my strategy; I was not sorry. "I have often wished to thank you, Mr. Carmel; you were so very kind." "I had no opportunity, Miss Ethel," he answered, with more feeling than before. "My profession obliges me to be kind--but I had no opportunity--Miss Grey is quite well?" "She is very well, thanks."