'Sam Hobson has asked me to marry him, sir.'

'Well--do you want to marry?'

'Not much. But it would be a home for me. And we have heard that
one of us will have to leave.'

A day or two after she said: 'I don't want to leave just yet, sir,
if you don't wish it. Sam and I have quarrelled.'

He looked up at her. He had hardly ever observed her before, though
he had been frequently conscious of her soft presence in the room.
What a kitten-like, flexuous, tender creature she was! She was the
only one of the servants with whom he came into immediate and
continuous relation. What should he do if Sophy were gone?

Sophy did not go, but one of the others did, and things went on
quietly again.

When Mr. Twycott, the vicar, was ill, Sophy brought up his meals to
him, and she had no sooner left the room one day than he heard a
noise on the stairs. She had slipped down with the tray, and so
twisted her foot that she could not stand. The village surgeon was
called in; the vicar got better, but Sophy was incapacitated for a
long time; and she was informed that she must never again walk much
or engage in any occupation which required her to stand long on her
feet. As soon as she was comparatively well she spoke to him alone.
Since she was forbidden to walk and bustle about, and, indeed, could
not do so, it became her duty to leave. She could very well work at