"I don't feel as if we were. And you
don't treat me as if we were—when you
wish to scold me, to be unkind."

"I think we agreed that your condescension,
not my presumption, was answerable
for any transgressions of mine?"

"There is no condescension, no
presumption, no transgression. But if there
is any blame it is mine."

"That is a very generous statement,
Miss Brown."

"Won't you reward it by a generous
concession, and call me Myrrha?"

"Will you, Myrrha, accept from me,
apropos of condescension and presumption,
a brotherly, fatherly if you prefer it, hint,
on a very delicate subject?"

"Anything that you say to Myrrha, and
not to Miss Brown, will be listened to
patiently."

"I was shocked to-day by my groom's
manner towards you, Myrrha, its half-jocose
familiarity. I shall blow him up and he
will excuse himself by saying something
about the young lady's 'condescension.'
You don't exactly understand English
usages, I fancy. And English servants
don't understand American liberty of
manner. An English young lady who leaned
against a paling slashing herself with her
whip, and laughing and talking freely with
a groom, would be considered—well—
objectionably fast—not well-conducted—not
anything you would wish to be considered."

Myrrha put her hands up to her face;
though the dusk would alone have sufficed to
hide her blushes, or the absence of them.

"Oh, Mr. Stewart," she said; "thank
you, a thousand times."

"Thank you, Myrrha, for taking my
warning in such good part."

"I hope you may find that I shall always
take in good part anything you may say
to me."

"I may not have many opportunities of
trying you."

"Oh, Mr. Stewart!" in very genuine
consternation, "I hope you don't mean
you are going away?"

"There is a possibility that business may
take me from the neighbourhood. You are
alarmed at the prospect of losing your
rides?"

"At that—and many other things."

"I could secure you the rides, and the
attendance of a careful old servant."

"Then, of course, I should not regret
you."

"Of course you would not. You would
have the physical enjoyment without the
metaphysical annoyance."

"Mr. Stewart, you are hoping I shall
say something pretty and flattering."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Not because you care for what I
say; but because men always care to be
flattered and regretted by women."

"Do they? I wonder if your experience
of men and women is drawn chiefly from
novels, or from life?"

"Which would you say, to look at me?"
And she turned her fair young face full
upon him, bringing it very near his.

"I wonder where your Aunt Daisy is all
this while?"

"In the garden, Mr. Stewart. She passed
the window just now. I was just thinking
of looking for her. Aunt Daisy declares
that you are not her lover, only her friend,
and that she never intends to marry, or I
should have thought of the possibility of
her being jealous of your kindness to me."

Mr. Stewart laughed, and Myrrha did
not admire the tone of his laugh. She
wished it had not been so dusk, she wanted
to see the expression of his face.

"You had better not go out in those
diaphanous draperies, now the dew is
falling," he said. "I will find your Aunt
Daisy, and say good-night to her—as I
say it now to you. Good-night, Miss
Brown. I am sure you will be too tired
to ride to-morrow—we will hope for a fine
day after to-morrow."

"There is no chance of my being too
tired; but you will find me too troublesome
if I want to ride every day."

He was gone. She watched the meeting
in the garden, and the parting which
followed upon it immediately; then,
directly Daisy came in, Myrrha, pleading
extreme fatigue, said good-night to her,
and went to bed.

MR. DICKENS'S NEW WORK.
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In 1 vol. Demy 8vo., Price 7s. 6d., with ILLUSTRATIONS
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