particularly the elder girl, who was "splendid,
by Jove!" He would have liked to have given
her a gun. He saw they liked hearing about
Fermor, and "rattled" away vivaciously on that
pleasant theme. He spoke of him always with
the deepest reverence and pride. "I believe,"
he said, "I am about the only fellow he likes
among them all. He never told me so, but I
think so. O, he is wonderful! such knowledge
of the world, such quietness, such ease. I
would give anything" (the image of his favourite
breech-loader rising before him) "to have
something like it! He says it is training; that he has
trained himself. O, it is wonderful! He can
do what he likes with people," he went on.
"There is an old cynic next door to him, with
a daughter—I should be afraid to look at him
with an opera-glass. But he has got round
him: has the run of the house, I may say. O,
it is wonderful."

The girls became interested. These were the
times of the lectures upon Roger le Garçon.

"And who are these people?" said Pauline.

"O, a fellow like a tall schoolmaster. I
know he scared me out of all my senses. But
Fermor knows how to tame. He made Fermor
dine with him the other day."

"And the daughter?" said Violet, anxiously.

"A nice soft creature, that sits in a chair,"
said Young Brett, rapturously, as if this last
attitude were one of her virtues; "so delicate
and gentle, and, by Jove! so grateful when
Fermor goes in to see her. He does it very often,"
continued Young Brett, with great seriousness;
"out of charity, like visiting the hospital, he
says."

Pauline, glancing nervously at her sister,
changed the subject, by asking Young Brett how
he liked his new gun; and presently Violet,
making some vain attempts at doing her work,
got up with an impetuous rustle, and fled to
her room. Her sister knew these signs of
trouble.

A quarter of an hour afterwards, Pauline
found her in sore distress, with two red rims
round her bright eyes. "O child, child!" said
she. "I knew you would be fretting yourself
with these trifles."

"I am a child," said the other, bursting out
afresh, "and I can't help it. And he knows it,
and treats me like one. O, Pauline, you were
wise and I was foolish. He just thinks of me
as he would of his little dog—just to amuse him
for half an hour. O, I am beginning to be very
miserable."

And there was anguish and despair, and the
good sister applied the usual soothing lotions,
and tranquillised her, as she alone had the power
of doing, with the weak liniment of reason.

CHAPTER XXVII. A LITTLE HEART IN TROUBLE.

LATE in the afternoon arrived Fermor the
splendid. He came to "form her mind." He
noted the faint red rings and the remains of the
dejection. He was soothing, and gallant, and
encouraging. He comforted and petted with
his noble and silvery accents. Her little soul
was burning in her to bring him gently to
account, but she stood too much in awe of him,
and shrank into low spirits. He freezed down
any hysterics in a second.

"A little frowardness," he thought. "Upon
my word, I am sorry to see this. I must eradicate
it gently but firmly. Violet," he said, gravely,
"you are not in your usual spirits to-day, I
fancy. No! You can't conceal anything from
me. Somebody has put you out a little."

"No, no," said Violet, eagerly.

"My dear child, it is written there," he said,
pointing to her face, "in text-hand. It is a
great pity to let you really be put out by trifles,
for in your little round of life you can only
encounter trifles. Now, take me. In the larger
tract of life through which I have to walk, what
purgatory I should suffer if I let myself be
disturbed. I might as well give up. Things must
master me, or I must master things. I prefer
the latter. You should make an exertion,
Violet. It will come after a time."

Violet cast down her eyes, trembling a little.
These "hortatives" always chilled.

"How will you face the world?" said Fermor.
"How will you rough it? for rough it we must,
to a certain degree. Or I must rough it for
both, I suppose," said Fermor, resignedly. "It
will all come on my shoulders."

"O!" said Violet, sorrowfully, "I would not
mind—that is, I would do—I mean—anything,
if I only thought—that is—-"

"Really," said Fermor, "I do not quite
follow. Your English, Violet, is rather unconnected.
You should try and throw your words
into the form of a sentence."

"But—" began Violet, passionately; then
stopped short, a little scared.

"Yes?" said Fermor, quite calmly, who
thought as he walked home how he had played
her skilfully, like a little perch at the end of his
line. "Let us hear it."

"O, if I thought," said she again, becoming
passionate, "that you really cared for me, and
loved me! But you don't. Do you? Tell me
now. Do you?"

Fermor was secretly pleased. She looked
really beautiful at that moment. Her cheeks
were glowing, her eyes glistening, as if a shower
were about to fall, and there was an imploring
air about her, an acknowledgment of superior
power, and an entreaty for mercy.

"My poor child," said Fermor, very tenderly,
"what have you got into your little head?
Something foreign, I know. Come, tell me. I
am not to be taken in, you know. Of course I
like you," he added, graciously.

"And nobody else? Do you like nobody
eIse?" she said, plaiting the corner of her dress
like a little girl stopped and questioned in the
street.

"No one else," said Fermor, a little
surprised. "Why, of course not; at least, not
in the same degree. These are very odd
questions."

"I know, I know," she said, eagerly, "and I
should not speak in this way. But you are so