came in and out, and was so sympathetic, and bright and lively, as well
as being uncommonly pretty, that the poor man lost his head and, with
very little pressure from the uncle, married her. It was all scrambled
up in a hurry, before his friends could turn round, or interfere. Of
course he had to resign his fellowship and his beautiful rooms
overlooking the garden, and he took his bride abroad. His relations
dropped him and he dropped his Oxford friends; then he went and settled
in the north. He must have lived there for years; his next move was
here."

"And have you always known this?" demanded Miss Mitty, her countenance
expressing injury and jealousy. Fancy Mrs. Billing knowing this story
all that time and keeping it to herself; how sly!

"Oh, only lately," replied the visitor in an apologetic key; "an old
aunt of mine lives in Oxford, and I met her in town last Easter.
Somehow the name of Shafto cropped up, and I heard the whole tale. I
told my husband and he said I'd better hold my tongue, and so I have,
until now, when it's of no consequence who knows--as of course
'Littlecote' must be given up, and the Shaftos will go away."

"Well, we have often wondered who she was? and how Shafto--who looked
like a duke--came to marry her," said Miss Tebbs; "such an odd,
flighty, uncertain sort of creature, always for strangers, instead of
her home. That poor boy never saw much of his mother; I believe he was
hustled off to a preparatory school when he was about seven, and when
he happened to be here for his holidays it was his father who took him
about. I am very sorry for Douglas, a handsome, cheery, nice fellow,"
she continued, "always with a pleasant word, even for an old woman like
me. The rectory lads and the Tremenheeres just love him!"