"That's very easily said," she answered dolorously "but I do think it's
not right," she added with energy, the hot colour rushing into her
cheeks, "to speak about one so. It is quite impertinent."

Maurice laughed. "Upon my word I believe very few young ladies would
agree with you; however, I assure you it would be giving the enemy an
advantage to stay away to-morrow, and I suppose, if I constitute myself
your highness's body-guard, you will not be afraid of any more
impertinence of the same kind."

He said "Good-night," and ran down the steps. As he passed along the
path under the verandah where she stood, she took one of the half-faded
roses from her belt and flung it at him. He caught it and with mock
gallantry pressed it to his heart; but as he turned through the wicket
and along the footpath which led to his home close by, he continued
twirling the flower in his fingers. Once it dropped, and without
thinking he stooped, and picked it up. He carried it into the house with
him, and into his own room, where he laid it down upon his writing-table
and forgot it.

Meanwhile, Margery had fastened doors and windows at the cottage, and
soon all was silent and dark, except the glimmer of Mrs. Costello's lamp
which often burned far into the night. Lucia had been long asleep when
her mother stole into her room for that last look which it was her habit
to take before she lay down. It was a little white chamber which had
been fitted up twelve years before for a child's use; but the child had
grown almost into a woman, and there were traces of her tastes and
occupations all about. There was a little book-shelf, where Puss in
Boots, and Goldsmith's History of England, still kept their places,