better, that he did not come; she must have hurt his feelings, discouraged him, probably driven him away from her; and she was very far from wishing to drive him away. Lottie thought, with an innocent calculation, if she saw a little more of him, had a little time given her to make his acquaintance, that probably she would come to love him quite naturally and spontaneously; but at present it was not possible that she could do so, and she felt a natural shrinking from any premature disclosure of his feelings. Thus it was evidently most fortunate that the Dean had interposed, that Rollo had not been allowed to come home with her--fortunate, and yet a little disappointing too. There had been a very few words exchanged with her companions as they crossed the Dean’s Walk. Mr. Ashford had most kindly and courteously reminded her that she had expressed a wish to speak to him about something. “It is too late now to ask what it was,” he said; “I must not keep you out of doors at this hour; but if you will permit me, I will call and inquire in what way I can be of use to you?” “You know in what way _I_ would like to be of use to you, Miss Despard,” the Signor said on the other side. All this was very flattering, even though she might be displeased by the Signor’s reiteration of his disagreeable offer. She made him a curtsey like Lady Caroline, while to the minor canon she gave her hand, which perhaps was quite sufficient to mark her different estimation of them. And indeed the Signor had been very kind about the accompaniments, which he had certainly played to perfection. This recollection came to her mind as he thanked her for her singing, undaunted by the stiffness of her leave-taking. “Indeed, I owe you more, a great deal more, than you can possibly owe me,” Lottie said, with a burst of compunction; “I never sang so well before, because I never had such an accompaniment.” “Then I hope I may accompany you very often again,” he said, with a smile, as he went away. Thus even with the Signor, Lottie felt herself in perfect good-humour and charity. A man who paid such compliments to her voice, how could she be hard upon him, even if he made a little mistake in respect to her position? And she went in out of the summer night in a state of celestial satisfaction with all the people surrounding her--and herself. Even Lady Caroline had melted into something which was warmth for her. She had said, “I have enjoyed your singing very much, Miss Despard,” and had touched Lottie’s hand with two limp fingers--that was something, indeed it was much for Lady Caroline. And all the other great ladies had spoken, or at least had smiled upon Lottie, thanking her. What could she have wished for more? She went up into her little tiny room, which was not much bigger than Lady Caroline’s grand piano, and throwing off the Indian shawl (if Mrs. O’Shaughnessy could but have seen it!) on the floor, sat down upon her little white bed and began to think. To think! nothing of the