sure, she has written in such a hurry lately. Did they really
sail on Tuesday?'

'Really sailed, and relieved me from many responsibilities. Edith
gave me all sorts of messages for you. I believe I have a little
diminutive note somewhere; yes, here it is.'

'Oh! thank you,' exclaimed Margaret; and then, half wishing to
read it alone and unwatched, she made the excuse of going to tell
her mother again (Sarah surely had made some mistake) that Mr.
Lennox was there.

When she had left the room, he began in his scrutinising way to
look about him. The little drawing-room was looking its best in
the streaming light of the morning sun. The middle window in the
bow was opened, and clustering roses and the scarlet honeysuckle
came peeping round the corner; the small lawn was gorgeous with
verbenas and geraniums of all bright colours. But the very
brightness outside made the colours within seem poor and faded.
The carpet was far from new; the chintz had been often washed;
the whole apartment was smaller and shabbier than he had
expected, as back-ground and frame-work for Margaret, herself so
queenly. He took up one of the books lying on the table; it was
the Paradiso of Dante, in the proper old Italian binding of white
vellum and gold; by it lay a dictionary, and some words copied
out in Margaret's hand-writing. They were a dull list of words,
but somehow he liked looking at them. He put them down with a
sigh.

'The living is evidently as small as she said. It seems strange,