"Eh?"

"They have given their labour--such as it is--in pure gratitude for
the kindness shown to them by all in Axcester. That has been the whole
meaning of our small enterprise," the old gentleman persisted.

"Still, I don't suppose they'll object if it brings a little beef to
their _ragoûts_. Say no more, say no more. What have we here? Eh?
'Bacchus and Ariadne'? I am rusty in my classics, but Bacchus,
Dorothea! This will please Narcissus. We have in our house, sir,"--
here he addressed Raoul,--"a Roman pavement entirely--ah--concerned
with that personage. It is, I believe, unique. One of these days I must
give you a permit to visit Bayfield and inspect it, with my brother for
_cicerone_. It will repay you--"

"It will more than repay me," the young man interposed, with his gaze
demurely bent on the wall.

"I should have said, it will repay your inspection. You must jog my
memory."

It was clear Raoul had a reply on his tongue. But he glanced at
Dorothea, read her expression, and, turning to her brother, bowed
again. Her first feeling was of gratitude. A moment later she blamed
herself for having asked his forbearance by a look, and him for his
confidence in seeking that look. His eyes, during the moment they
encountered hers, had said, "We under-stand one another." He had no
right to assume so much, and yet she had not denied it.