gentle with little Hester; that he should
present her with a rose, write her a valentine,
play chess with her the length of an evening
(his heart being safe all the time with his Janet
at Glenluce). But it would be no harm at all
if simple Hester should remember him at
parting with kindness. Any tie that could
help to bind the girl to herself, however
indirectly, must be forged at any cost, without
delay.

It would be nothing to Lady Humphrey if
Hester should go to Ireland with a pain at her
heart. And Pierce was (as his mother knew
well) a young man who could take a fancy to
any good thing that came across his way, and
pass on with a little look backward and a sigh
of sentiment, and love the next sweet thing
just as freely as the first. And the next after
that again had quite as good a chance as the
rest, and it must hang upon little things as
trifling as the accidental (or artful) holding
out of a hand, the chance passing by a door,
whether the first or the last should know the
permanent enjoyment of the tender hospitality
of that softest amongst the hearts of mankind.
So Pierce, with a fiancée in Ireland, whose
sudden desertion had cost him throes of
unexampled anguish, devoted himself most easily
and naturally to Hester, his little nurse of
other days—the seamstress and dressmaker—
the young lady on a visit with his mother at
Hampton Court.

And Hester? Well, even as a child, she
had found herself disappointed in him, and in
the truth of her nature had not refrained from
avowing it. Neither did she approve of him
now. But she was driven to him often for
companionship and sympathy, and this last she
found plentiful at least, if not deep of its kind.
She liked him, admired him, in as far as there
was anything to admire; her heart warmed to
him as the only one who had ever as yet come
near her bringing love. She would have
soothed him in a trouble as she would have
soothed Baby Johnny, got a habit of relying on
his good nature and affection as the only present
thing she had to trust. That it was a weak
thing to cling to she felt. But that feeling
was a sadness in itself.

He would take her out and row her among
the lilies up the river; Lady Humphrey having
commanded her to go. He would tease her
with the swans, read her a tender sonnet,
stick water-lilies in her hair, tell her that a
fellow could not choose but worship such a face
as hers. And he would take her wise rebuke
with meekness, sighing over it till she was
obliged to be kind again for pity. And Hester
had no other friend, and was afraid of Lady
Humphrey. And that lady looked on in silence
at the delicacy and reserve, the simple dignity
of the girl's untutored conduct, and congratulated
herself that, in the stealthy work of harm
that was before her, she had found so fine a
weapon at her hand.

Thus a brilliant uneasy phase of Hester's life
went past; busy with pleasure, but straitened
by doubts; very brightly coloured, but with
colours somewhat gaudy and coarse, and
utterly unwarranted to wear. There were poetry
books and pictures, and visits to the theatre.
There were smart bonnets and fair gowns,
and excursions to Vauxhall. There were
occasional frowns, and even taunts, when Lady
Humphrey's temper was not proof against
the anxiety of her mind. But then there
was always soft-hearted, easy-going Pierce,
with his refuge of goodnature and his shield of
protection.

One day a little old snuffy-looking gentleman
arrived and was shown up to Lady Humphrey's
drawing-room. It was early in the day, but
Mr. Campion was never denied by Lady
Humphrey, no matter at what hour he might appear.
The lady was yawning over her morning papers,
nothing of special interest having caught her
eye. Hester, at a window, was busy with some
sewing, turning a half-worn gown for Lady
Humphrey's morning wear. For even in these
fleeting days of her young-ladyhood, it was
found useful that Hester's needle should get
exercise. Mr. Campion was announced, and the
gentleman appeared. He advanced with a
dancing-master's gliding step, and wore a full
dress of black, with some snuff upon the collar
of his coat. His face gleamed as yellow as a
guinea from under the whiteness of his powdered
wig. His lively deep-set eyes took a tew turns
round the room, and fixed themselves on the
floor, a few rapid turns round the room again,
and fixed themselves on the wall; but seldom
did they so favour the person who might be
addressing him. His face was all dragged into
wrinkles, more, it would seem, from his habit
of twisting it about into a hundred changing
expressions, than from age.

Hester looked up from her sewing and
remembered something dimly. Had she seen
this little smirking man before? Probably she
had, over the card-tables so long ago, when the
winter nights were long, and the visits to
Hampton Court were so many fresh chapters of
an unfinished fairy tale. For Mr. Campion was
Lady Humphrey's man of business, and it was
many years since he had first enjoyed the
dearly earned boon of her social condescension.
This visit was one of business, and Hester was
dismissed from the room.

"Well?" said Lady Humphrey simply, when
the door was closed and they were alone.

"Your ladyship is before me with the news
of the day I perceive," said the little man, in a
tone and with a look half bantering and half
cringing, while all the time he was stroking and
fingering two folded newspapers which he held
caressingly on his knee, as if they had rather
been some kind of living things which had
behaved so very well that they deserved to get
a petting.

"I am waiting your pleasure to inform me,"
said Lady Humphrey, hiding her impatience
under a cold reserve, sinking backward in her
chair, an image of indifference.

"Pardon my little jest," said Mr. Campion,