"You judge of books like a lady, then,
though you were your father's companion
as well as his pet," said Mr. Creswell,
smiling. "Those shabby books are, many
of them, much more valuable than my
well-dressed shelf-fillers. And even if they
were not, I should prize them for the same
reason that you do, and almost as much—
yes, Miss Ashurst, almost as much. Men
are awkward about saying such things, but
I may tell his daughter that but for James
Ashurst I never should have known the
value of books—in other than a commercial
sense, I mean."

"I don't know what they are worth,"
said Marian, "but if you will find out, and
buy them, my mother and I will be very
thankful. I know it will be a great relief
to her to think of them at Woolgreaves,
and all together. She has fretted more
about my father's books being dispersed,
and going into the hands of strangers, than
about any other secondary cause of sorrow.
The other things she takes quietly enough."

The widow could be seen from the
window by them both, as she pursued her
monotonous walk in the garden, with her
head bowed down and her figure so expressive
of feebleness.

"Does she?" said Mr. Creswell. "I
am very glad to hear that. Then"—and
here Mr. Creswell gave a little sigh of
relief—"we will look upon the matter of
the books as arranged, and to-morrow I
will send for them. Give yourself no
further trouble about them. Fletcher shall
settle it all."

"You will have them valued?" Marian
asked, with business-like seriousness.

"Certainly," returned Mr. Creswell;
"and now tell me what your plans are,
and where these lodgings are to which
you alluded just now. Maud and Gertrude
have not seen you, they tell me, since
you took them?"

"No," said Marian, without the least
tone of regret in her voice; "we have not
met since your visit to Manchester. Miss
Creswell's cold has kept her at home, and
I have been much too busy to get so far as
Woolgreaves."

"Your mother has seen my nieces?"

"Yes; Miss Gertrude Creswell called,
and took her for a drive, and she remained
to lunch at Woolgreaves. But that was
one day when I was lodging-hunting—nothing
had then been settled."

"The girls are very fond of Mrs.
Ashurst."

"They are very kind," said Marian,
absently. The Misses Creswell were
absolutely uninteresting to her, and as yet
Marian Ashurst had never pretended to
entertain a feeling she did not experience.
The threshold of that particular school of
life in which the art of feigning is learned
lay very near her feet now, but they had
not yet crossed it.

Marian and Mr Creswell remained a
long time together before Mrs. Ashurst
came in. The girl spoke to the old gentleman
with more freedom and with more
feeling than on any previous occasion of
their meeting; and Mr. Creswell began
to think how interesting she was in
comparison with Maud and Gertrude, for
instance; how much sense she had, how
little frivolity. How very good-looking
she was, also; he had no idea she ever
would have been so handsome—yes, positively
handsome; he used the word in his
thoughts, she certainly had not possessed
anything like it when he had seen her
formerly—a dark, prim, old-fashioned kind
of girl, going about her father's study with
an air of quiet appreciative sharpness and
shrewdness, which he did not altogether
like. But she really had become quite
handsome, now, in her poor dress, with
her grieved tired face, her hair carelessly
pushed off it any way, and her hands rough
and soiled; she had made him recognise
and feel that she had the gift of beauty
also.

Mr. Creswell thought about this when
he had taken leave of Mrs. Ashurst and
Marian, having secured their promise to
come to Woolgreaves on the day but one
after, when he hoped Marian would assist
him in assigning places to the books,
which she felt almost reconciled to part
with under these new conditions. He
thought about them a good deal, and tried
to make out, among the dregs of his
memory, who it was who had said, within
his hearing, when Marian was a child,
"Yes, she's a smart little girl, sure enough,
and a dead hand at a bargain."

Marian Ashurst thought about Mr. Creswell
after he left her and her mother.
Mrs. Ashurst was very much relieved and
gratified by his kindness about the books,
as was Marian also. But the mother and
daughter regarded the incident from
different points of view. Mrs. Ashurst dwelt
on the kindness of heart which dictated
the purchase of the dead friend's books as
at once a tribute to the old friendship and a
true and delicate kindness to the survivors.
Marian saw all that, but she dwelt rather