If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletcher's face that
morning would have dispelled the doubt, for, as she read, he was
saying to himself: "Yes, this healthful, cheery, helpful creature is
what I want to make life pleasant. Every thing else is used up; why
not try this, and make the most of my last chance? She does me good,
and I don't seem to get tired of her. I can't have a long life, they
tell me, nor an easy one, with the devil to pay with my vitals
generally; so it would be a wise thing to provide myself with a
good-tempered, faithful soul to take care of me. My fortune would
pay for loss of time, and my death leave her a bonny widow. I won't
be rash, but I think I'll try it,"

With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful thoughts in his
mind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletchcr's eyes betrayed him, as he lay
looking at Christie. Never had she read so badly, for she could not
keep her mind on her book. It would wander to that new and
troublesome fancy of hers; she could not help thinking that Mr.
Fletcher must have been a handsome man before he was so ill;
wondering if his temper was very bad, and fancying that he might
prove both generous and kind and true to one who loved and served
him well. At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of the
tongue that covered her with confusion.

She was reading "John Halifax," and instead of saying "Phineas
Fletcher" she said Philip, and then colored to her forehead, and
lost her place. Miss Tudor did not mind it, but Mr. Fletcher
laughed, and Christie thanked Heaven that her face was half hidden
by the old brown hat.

Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find that Mr.