n of giving herself up to her feelings she was going to behave in the only way that

er of doggedness and principle, and finally become an attitude unable to be altered, long after years had made it ridiculous. If the marriage

on. Lucy's instinct had been sound, that wish to keep her engagement secret from her aunt for as long as possible. Miss Entwhistle, always thin, grew still more thin in her constant daily and hourly struggle to be plea

pearance of strain and overwork. 'She should take things more naturally. Look at us.' For it was the one fly

with his arms about her, who had taught his little girl to be s

der, she thought there must be a good deal to be said for single-mindedness. It was Lucy who told her Everard was so single-minded. He took one thing at a time, she said, concentrating quietly. When he had completely finishe

ance just for the look of the thing, and on the Saturday and Sunday outings she was invariably present the whole time-felt it a little hard that when at last s

dear. She will make this warmer and more varied if she can, but at least she will say that much. Miss Entwhistle tried to think of variations, afraid Lucy might notice a certain samenes

ake her aunt say it again, by asking a little anxiously, 'But you do think him a great dear, don't you, Aunt Dot?' Whereupon Miss Entwhistle, a

it mattered less. And sometimes Miss Entwhistle even doubted whether it was this that mattered to her at all,-whether it was not rather some quite small things that she really objected to: a want of fastidiousness, for instance, a forgetfulness of the minor courtesies,-the objections, in a word, she told herself smiling, of an old maid. Lucy seemed not to mind his blunders in these directions in the least. She seemed positively, thought her aunt, to take a kind of pride in them, delighting in everything he said or di

f tenderness out of her eyes when they rested on him. Questions as to who he was would naturally be asked, and one or other of Jim's friends would be sure to remember the affair of Mrs. Wemyss's death; indeed, that day she went to the British Museum and read the report of it she had been amazed that she hadn't seen it at the time. It took up so mu

it,-but far best not to produce him, to keep him from meeting her friends. She therefore arranged a day in the week when she would be at home, and discouraged every one from the waste of time of trying to call on her on other days. Then presently the afternoon

her aunt's point, that only by pinning their friends to a day and an hour could the risk of their overflowing into precious mo

ometimes comes at the end to those who have survived marriage; and to her, when the aut

hly struck, because of something Lucy had said, by the distance she had travelled. Lucy was quite a tiny figure now, so far

brief of speech by wi

ith a reasonable frequency, he inhabited one of the substantial houses of Lancaster Gate, and also, of course, he had The Willows, the house on the river near Strorley where his wife had died. After all, what could be better than two houses, Miss Entwhistle thought, congratulating herself, as it were, on Lucy's behalf that this side of Wemyss was so satisfactory. Two houses, and no children; how much be

m was more ripe than comforting

d to become, more reconciled, went again, in a kind of desperation this time, to the widow, seeking some word from her who was so wise that would restore

lking about, replied with the large calm of those who hav