What do
you say?"

Miggles subsided into instant tears. "It's too good of you. Oh, my
dear, my dear, I couldn't--I couldn't let you. It's too good of you,
too sweet. I shall always remember and bless you for thinking of it,
but it would be too selfish--too grasping. I could not allow it."

"Miggles, listen! I've been puzzling what to do with myself this next
year; I have no home, now that my aunt is dead, and no tie to any
special place. That's a lonely feeling, Miggles, when you are only
twenty-three. It would be a solution of the problem if you could let me
come to you. I sounded Mr Goring and he was willing; more than
willing, delighted at the idea. And I have some money of my own, you
know, dear, and as Mr Goring would not hear of my paying anything
towards the household expenses, I am going to spend it on pleasures and
luxuries. I have a lovely plan--to buy a comfortable little pony
carriage in which to drive you along the lanes, and give you fresh air
without fatigue. Then, when you don't feel inclined to go out I'll use
the horse for riding. I love riding, and it will be good exercise to
scour the countryside. Perhaps sometimes there'll be a Meet. If there
were hunting I should feel quite gay. I _want_ to come, if you care to
have me."

"Care!" Miggles laughed, cried, gasped, ejaculated, panted, in such
extravagance of joy, such depths of humility, such paeans of gratitude,
that Vanna had to exercise her prerogative as nurse, administer a
soothing draught, and insist upon a rest forthwith.

"Not another word. If you are good and obedient, I'll come; if you are
not, I won't. I am not going to saddle myself with a rebellious
patient. So now you know. Kiss me, and shut your eyes--"

"But," protested Miggles, "but--but--"

Long after Vanna had left the room she lay awake, staring with wistful,
puzzled eyes at the opposite wall. A social creature, devoted to her
kind, no one but herself knew how heavily the prospect of loneliness had
weighed upon her. Vanna's proposition had been like a flash of sunshine
lighting up a grey country, but she could not rejoice with a full heart
until she was satisfied of the girl's happiness.

"A young thing like that shut up with an old, ailing woman--it's not
right, not fitting. I must not be selfish. I need quiet at the end of
my days, but at twenty-three! To take her to that lonely place, away
from all her friends: can it be right? I'd love her, and