evening. Mrs.
Bywank and I are old acquaintances,' he said, looking at Wych
Hazel.

'Dear Mrs. Bywank! how good she used to be. I haven't seen her
but once since I left home. I'm sure you have a great many
worse acquaintances, Mr. Rollo.'

'I am at a loss to understand how you can be sure of that. But
I have some better.--Miss Kennedy, I want you to give me a
boon. Say you will do it.'

'I'll hear it first.'

'Will you? that's fair, I suppose; but if we were better
friends, I should not be satisfied without a blank check put
into my hands for me to fill up. However,--as I am not to have
that honour on the present occasion I will explain. Let me be
the one to introduce you, some day, to one of your neighbours,
whom you do not remember, because she came here since you went
away. Will you?'

'Why yes, of course, if you wish it--only I will not be
responsible for any accidental introduction that may take
place first.'

'I will,' said Rollo. 'Then it is a bargain? I shall ask half
a day's excursion for it.'

'That is as much of a supplement as a woman's postscript, Mr.
Rollo. However, I suppose it is safe to let you ask what you
like.'

'You give it to me?'

'Maybe.'

'Then it is a bargain,' said he, smiling. 'Here is my hand
upon it.'

She laughed, looked round at him rather wonderingly, but gave
her hand, remarking:

'But you know I have the right to change my mind three times.'

There is a curious language in the touch of hands, saying
often inexplicably what the coarser medium of words would be
powerless to say; revealing things not meant to be discovered;
and also conveying sweeter, finer, more intimate touches of
feeling and mood than tongue could tell if it tried. Wych
Hazel remembered this clasp of her hand, and felt it as often
as she remembered it. There was nothing sentimental; it was
only a frank clasp, in which her hand for a moment was not her
own; and though the clasp did not linger, for that second's
continuance it gave her an indescribable impression, she could
hardly have told of what. It was not merely the gentleness;
she could not separate from that the notion of possession, and
of both as being in the mind, to which the hand was an index.
But such a thought passes as it comes. Something else in those
five minutes brought the colour flitting about her face,
coming and going as if ashamed of itself; but with it all she
was intensely amused; _she_ was not sentimental, nor even
seri