He spoke so very much as if he meant
what he said, that Mr. Mackworth gave
way, greatly to his daughter's satisfaction,
and followed their host across the hall to
a long drawing-room, fragrant with the
sweet breath of the conservatory on which
it opened. Here, as elsewhere, all was fresh
and new: and on the walls were pictures
which riveted her father in a moment. He
had a great natural taste for art, and during
a tour he had once made in Italy as tutor to
a friend, that taste had been highly cultivated.
His remarks showed such thorough
knowledge and discrimination that Mr.
Langley felt rather out of bis depth, and
turned to Mary:

"Do you care for pictures?" he asked her.

"I care" she answered, "but I am quite
ignorant about them. I know what I like,
and that is nil."

"And that is exactly my case," said Mr.
Langley. "I know nothing else about them."

"You must have had excellent taste to
begin with," Mr. Mackworth put in, "to
select as you have selected. See, Mary," he
added, pointing out one of Millais' gorgeous
pieces of colouring; "is not this what you
once described to me?"

"Oh! Yes," cried Mary eagerly, as pleased
as if she were greeting an old friend: "it
was in the Royal Academy two years ago."

"Do you often go to the Royal Academy?"
asked Mr. Langley.

"Whenever I can. Mrs. Halroyd likes
her children to go sometimes, and then I
take them. I am their governess," she said,
in answer to Mr. Langley's inquiring look.

"I treat myself to an hour there, too,
whenever I can; it does one good after a
dull day's work."

"Oh! Doesn't it?" said Mary: "I always
think, after a few months in London, that
one gets so weary of never seeing anything
but what is ugly."

"You don't like London, I see," said Mr.
Langley, smiling.

"Who can? I like the people I am with
there — I am as happy as possible — but, as
to London itself! I do so long for something
green to look at: something really green
and wild, not all prim and spoilt, like the
parks."

"I believe," said her father, amused by
her genuine earnestness, "that my daughter
would have everybody agree that London is
unfit for human habitation. Now I, on the
contrary, think London life is one well worth
the living."

At this moment, when the curate had
given up his study of the pictures on account
of the gathering darkness, tea made its
appearance. Lamps were brought by one or
two soft-treading servants, and a square
table seemed to start from the large bow
window, covered with shining silver,
exquisite china, and the whitest of napery.
Mary's perfect enjoyment was a little marred
by her almost self-reproachful regret at
being there instead of Cilla, and also by a
slight degree of shyness which crept over
her when the comfortable twilight no longer
sheltered her. This feeling was rather
increased by the entrance of a small pretty
woman dressed in handsome half mourning,
whom Mr. Langley introduced as
"my sister, Mrs. Lester." He briefly
explained to her the affair of the bank-notes,
and she turned to Mary with warm thanks
and expressions of the greatest relief.

"It is more than you deserve, Vincent,"
she said, shaking her head at her brother.
And then she took her place at the table,
and dispensed most welcome cups of tea;
and the conversation grew so animated that
both Mary and her father were sorry when
the brougham was announced. As they rose
to go, Mr. Langley came up to the curate
rather nervously, and offered him something
enclosed in an envelope.

"You must let me pay my debts," he
said. Mr. Mackworth looked at him for a
moment in bewilderment: then suddenly
examined the packet, and tendered it back,
shaking his head.

"But I really shall not feel satisfied unless
I pay the reward, as I have publicly offered it
—for your poor people, Mr. Mackworth,"
said the banker.

"For his penance, Mr. Mackworth, on
moral grounds you ought to take it,"
interposed Mrs. Lester: "don't you think so?"
She turned her agreeable face on Mary,
who laughed and hazarded no opinion. To
tell the truth, she would have had no objection
at all to those five hundred pounds and
the comfort they would bring to her
mother and Cilla, the advantages to Harry, the
addition to every one's well-being. No doubt
papa was right, and she was low-minded and
ignoble, but still! —so she said nothing,
and her father rejoined:

"As to my poor people, if you like to
spend the sum in charity, there are plenty
of ways of doing so, which I am sure I need
not point out to you. I thank you very much
for your hospitality, and above all for the
sight of those pictures: you don't know the
treat it has been to me."

"You must come by daylight: this evening
it was too dark to see them well," said
Mr. Langley. "Will you not bring him?"
he added, as he handed Mary to the carriage.