undoing the portmanteau; my father leaned on the mantel-shelf, and
sighed and muttered, 'Poor Ernescliffe! I wish it may end well.' I
thought he forgot that I was there, so I would not seem to notice,
but I soon saw it was that he meant."

"How?" cried Ethel eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know--by Alan's way."

"Tell me--I want to know what people do when they are in love."

"Nothing particular," said Norman, smiling.

"Did you hear him inquire for her? How did he look?"

"I can't tell. That was when he met us at the station before I
thought of it, and I had to see to the luggage. But I'll tell you
one thing, Ethel; when papa was talking of her to Mrs. Mackenzie, at
the other end of the room, all his attention went away in an instant
from what he was saying. And once, when Harry said something to me
about her, he started, and looked round so earnestly."

"Oh, yes--that's like people in books. And did he colour?"

"No; I don't recollect that he did," said Norman; "but I observed he
never asked directly after her if he could help it, but always was
trying to lead, in some round-about way, to hearing what she was
doing."

"Did he call her Margaret?"