she winced away from it more, from
remembering former occasions on which he had
tried to lead her into a discussion (in which
he took the complimentary part) about her
own character and ways of going on. She
cut his speech rather short by saying:

"It is natural for me to think of Helstone
church, and the walk to it, rather than of
driving up to a London church in the middle
of a paved street."

"Tell me about Helstone. You have never
described it to me. I should like to have
some idea of the place you will be living in,
when ninety-six Harley Street will be looking
dingy and dirty, and dull, and shut up. Is
Helstone a village, or a town, in the first
place?"

"Oh, only a hamlet; I don't think I could
call it a village at all. There is the church
and a few houses near it on the green—
cottages, rather—with roses growing all over
them."

"And flowering all the year round,
especially at Christmas—make your picture
complete," said he.

"No," replied Margaret, somewhat
annoyed, "I am not making a picture. I am
trying to describe Helstone as it really is.
You should not have said that."

"I am penitent," he answered. "Only it
really sounded like a village in a tale rather
than in real life."

"And so it is," replied Margaret, eagerly.
"All the other places in England that I have
seen seem so hard and prosaic-looking, after
the New Forest. Helstone is like a village in
a poem—in one of Tennyson's poems. But I
won't try and describe it any more. You
would only laugh at me if I told you what I
think of it—what it really is."

"Indeed I would not. But I see you are
going to be very resolved. Well, then, tell
me that which I should like still better to
know: what the parsonage is like."

"Oh, I can't describe my home. It is
home, and I can't put its charm into words."

"I submit. You are rather severe
tonight, Margaret."

"How?" said she, turning her large soft
eyes round full upon him. "I did not know
I was."

"Why, because I made an unlucky remark,
you will neither tell me what Helstone is
like, nor will you say anything about your
home, though I have told you how much I want
to hear about both, the latter especially."

"But indeed I cannot tell you about my
own home. I don't quite think it is a thing
to be talked about, unless you knew it."

"Well, then"—pausing for a moment—
"tell me what you do there? Here you
read, or have lessons, or otherwise improve
your mind, till the middle of the day; take a
walk before lunch, go a drive with your aunt
after, and have some kind of engagement in
the evening. There, now fill up your day at
Helstone. Shall you ride, drive, or walk?"

"Walk, decidedly. We have no horse, not
even for papa. He walks to the very
extremity of his parish. The walks are so
beautiful, it would be a shame to drive—
almost a shame to ride."

"Shall you garden much? That, I believe,
is a proper employment for young ladies in
the country."

"I don't know. I am afraid I shan't like
such hard work."

"Archery parties—pic-nics—race-balls—
hunt-balls?"

"Oh no!" said she, laughing. "Papa's
living is very small; and even if we were
near such things, I doubt if I should go to
them."

"I see, you won't tell me anything. You
will only tell me that you are not going to do
this and that. Before the vacation ends, I
think I shall pay you a call, and see what
you really do employ yourself in."

"I hope you will. Then you will see for
yourself how beautiful Helstone is. Now I
must go. Edith is sitting down to play, and
I just know enough of music to turn over the
leaves for her; and besides, Aunt Shaw won't
like us to talk."

Edith played brilliantly. In the middle of
the piece the door half-opened, and Edith saw
Captain Lennox hesitating whether to come
in. She threw down her music, and rushed
out of the room, leaving Margaret standing
confused and blushing to explain to the
astonished guests what vision had shown
itself to cause Edith's sudden flight. Captain
Lennox had come earlier than was expected;
or was it really so late? They looked at
their watches, were duly shocked, and took
their leave.

Then Edith came back, glowing with
pleasure, half-shyly, half-proudly leading in her
tall handsome Captain. His brother shook
hands with him, and Mrs. Shaw welcomed
him in her gentle kindly way, which had
always something plaintive in it, arising from
the long habit of considering herself a victim
to an uncongenial marriage. Now that, the
General being gone, she had every good of
life, with as few drawbacks as possible, she
had been rather perplexed to find an anxiety,
if not a sorrow. She had, however, of late
settled upon her own health as a source of
apprehension; she had a nervous little cough
whenever she thought about it; and some
complaisant doctor ordered her just what
she desired,—a winter in Italy. Mrs. Shaw
had as strong wishes as most people, but she
never liked to do anything from the open and
acknowledged motive of her own good will
and pleasure; she preferred being compelled
to gratify herself by some other person's
command or desire. She really did persuade
herself that she was submitting to some hard
external necessity; and thus she was able to
moan and complain in her soft manner, all the
time she was in reality doing just what she liked.

It was in this way she began to speak of her