over the leaves, knitting her brows the while, in serious
cogitation; then closed the book, and turning from it to me,
quietly asked the price of it - I felt the hot blood rush to my
face.

'I'm sorry to offend you, Mr. Markham,' said she, 'but unless I pay
for the book, I cannot take it.' And she laid it on the table.

'Why cannot you?'

'Because,' - she paused, and looked at the carpet.

'Why cannot you?' I repeated, with a degree of irascibility that
roused her to lift her eyes and look me steadily in the face.

'Because I don't like to put myself under obligations that I can
never repay - I am obliged to you already for your kindness to my
son; but his grateful affection and your own good feelings must
reward you for that.'

'Nonsense!' ejaculated I.

She turned her eyes on me again, with a look of quiet, grave
surprise, that had the effect of a rebuke, whether intended for
such or not.

'Then you won't take the book?' I asked, more mildly than I had yet
spoken.

'I will gladly take it, if you will let me pay for it.' I told her