dining-room, and you go up and there's a drawing-room, and you go up again and there's a bedroom and a dressing-room, and you go up

e cleared out of all her clothes and toques, which then had nowhere to go to and became objects that you met at nig

one's own dear niece, if only she could have been induced to take the real bedroom and let her aunt, who knew the dressing-roo

oom, and the first weeks of their mourning, which Miss Entwhistle had dreaded for them both, pro

histle well knew Lucy would give no trouble that she could help, but their both being in such trouble themselves wou

whistle hadn't known her, hadn't known of her terrible loss, she would have said that here was some one who was quietly happy. It was subdued, but there it was, as if she had some private source of confidence and warmth. Had she by any chance got religion? wondered her aunt, who herself had never had it, and neither had Jim, and neither had any Entwhistles she had ever heard of. She dismissed that. It was too unlikely for one of their breed. But even the frequent nec

herself together so marvellously-and she supposed it must be that, it must be that she was heroically pulling herself together-she for her part wouldn't be behindhand. Her da

raid she would very soon begin to worry about what she was to do next. She never talked of it; she never apparently thought of it. She seemed to be-yes, that was the word, decided Miss Entw

necessities for an invalid which were, in fact, to ordinary people luxuries. No one had been appointed her guardian. There was no mention of Mr. Wemyss in the will. It was a very short will, leaving everything to Lucy. This, as far as it went, was admirable, thought Miss Entwhistle, but unfortunately there was hardly anything to leave. Except b

istinctly recognisable as happiness. She and Lucy agreed so perfectly. And they weren't altogether alone either, for Mr. Wemyss came regula

ness. His trousers, she observed, were grey; and not a particularly dark grey either. Well, perhaps it was no longer the fashion, thought Miss Entwhistle, eyeing these trousers with some doubt, to be very unhappy. But she couldn't help thinking there

ck; and she soon got to remember the way he liked his tea, and had the biggest chair placed comfortably ready for him-the chairs were neither very big nor numerous in her spare little

at her tea-table observing Wemyss, who looked particularly big and prosperous in her small frugal room, and no doubt one star differed from another in glory; still, she did wonder at Jim. And if Mr. Wemyss could bear the loss of his wife to the extent of grey trousers, how was it he couldn't bear Jim's name so much as mentioned? Whenev

intricate, tormenting feelings shrink away in his presence ashamed. Quite apart from her love for him, her gratitude, her longing that he should go on now being happy and forget his awful tragedy, he was so very comfortable. She had never met any one so comfortable to lean on mentally. Bodily, on the few occasions on which her aunt was out of the room, he was comfortable too; he reminded her of the very nicest of sofas,-expensive ones, all cushions. But mentally he was more than comfortable, he was positively luxurious. Such perfect rest, listening to his talk. No thinking needed. Things according to him were either so, or so. With

the door He o

and saved her. Lucy had indeed, as her aunt had twice suspected, got religion, but her religion was Wemyss. A

her now. She had filled his thoughts enough lately, and how terribly. His little angel Lucy had healed that wound, and there was no use in thinking of an old wound; nobody healthy ever did that. He had explained to Lucy, who at first had been a little morbid, how wrong it is, how really wicked, besides being intensely stupid, not to get over things. Life, he had said, is for the living; let the dead have death. The pres

al had been shut, because the commas of Wemyss's talk with her when they chanced to be a

down at the head lying on his breast. 'It's such a little one.

ably his senior. And here was Lucy, only twenty-two anyhow, and looking like twelve. The contrast never ceased to delight him, to fill him with pride. And how pretty she was, now that she had left off crying. He adored her bobbed hair that gave her the appearance of a child or a very young boy, and he adored the little delicate lines of her nose and nostrils, and her rather big, kind mouth that so easily smiled, and her