happened.

"I thought like's not nobody would mention it to you," Mrs. Black had
further elucidated. "Of course _he_ wouldn't say anything, men-folks
are kind of sly and secret in their doings--even the best of 'em; and
you'll find it's so, as you travel along life's path-way."

Mrs. Black had once written a piece of poetry and it had actually
been printed in the Grenoble _News_; since then she frequently made
use of figures of speech.

"A married woman and a widow can speak from experience," she went on.
"So I thought I'd just tell you: he's as good as engaged, already."

"Do you mean Mr. Elliot?" asked Lydia incuriously.

Mrs. Black nodded.

"I thought you ought to know," she said.

Mr. Elliot had entered the room upon the heels of this warning, and
Lydia had promptly forgotten it. Now she paused for a swift review of
the weeks which had already passed since her arrival. Mr. Elliot had
been unobtrusively kind and helpful from the first, she remembered.
Later, he had been indefatigable in the matter of securing workmen
for the restoration of the old house, when she made it clear to him
that she did not want an architect and preferred to hire Brookville
men exclusively. As seemed entirely natural, the minister had called
frequently to inspect the progress of the work. Twice in their rounds
together they had come upon Jim Dodge; and although the clergyman was
affable in his recognition and greeting, Lydia had been unpleasantly
surprised by the savage look on her landscape-gardener's face as he
returned the polite salutation.

"Don't you like Mr. Elliot?" she had ventured to inquire, after the
second disagreeable incident of the sort.

Jim Dodge had treated her to one of his dark-browed, incisive glances
before replying.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question satisfactorily, Miss Orr,"
was what he said.

And Lydia, wondering, desisted from further question.

"That middle one looks some like one of the young ladies that was
here this morning," observed Martha, with the privileged familiarity
of an old servant.

"She must have dropped it," said Lydia, slowly.

"The young ladies here in the country has very bad manners,"
commented Martha, puckering her lips primly. "I wouldn't put myself
out for them, if I was you, mem."

Lydia turned the picture over and gazed abstractedly at the three
words written there: "Lest we forget!" Beneath this pertinent
quotation appeared the initials "W. E."

"If it was