though yonder bank was only represented by the chequer-work of
Mrs. Ponsonby's latticed trellis; and Mr. Delaford proceeded to quote
the whole passage, in a deep mellow voice, but with a great deal of
affectation; and Charlotte gasped, 'So beautiful!'

'I perceive that you have a fine taste for poetry,' said Mr. Delaford,
so graciously, that Charlotte presumed to say, 'Oh, sir! is it true
that you can play the guitar?'

He smiled upon her tone of veneration, and replied, 'a trifle--a little
instrumental melody was a great resource. If his poor performance
would afford her any gratification, he would fetch his guitar.'

'Oh, sir--thank you--a psalm-tune, perhaps. It is Sunday--if you would
be so kind.'

He smiled superciliously as he regretted that his music was not of that
description, and Charlotte felt ready to sink into the earth at the
indignity she had done the guitar in forgetting that it could accompany
anything but such songs as Valancourt sang to Emily. She begged his
pardon humbly; and he declared that he had a great respect for a lady's
scruples, and should be happy to meet her another evening. 'If Mrs.
Beckett would allow her,' said Charlotte, overpowered with gratitude:
'there would be the moon full to-morrow--how delightful!' He could
spare a short interval between the dinner and the tea; and with this
promise he took leave.

Honest little Charlotte told Mrs. Beckett the whole story, and all her
eager wishes for to-morrow evening; and Jane sighed and puzzled
herself, and knew it would make Martha very angry, but could not help
being goodnatured. Jane had a great deference for Martha's strong,
rough character; but then Martha had never lived in a great house, and
did not know 'what was what,' nor the difference between 'low people'
and upper servants. So Jane acted chaperon as far as her easy
discretion went, and had it to say to her own conscience, and to the
angry Martha, that he never said one word that need offend any young
woman.

There was a terrible storm below-stairs in the House Beautiful at the
idea of Delaford taking up with Mrs. Frost's little
kitchen-maid--Delaford, the lady's-maid killer par excellence, wherever
Lady Conway went, and whose coquetries whitened the cheeks of Miss
Conway's poor Marianne, the object of his attentions whenever he had no
one else in view. He had not known Charlotte to be a kitchen-maid when
he first beheld her, and her fair beauty and retiring grace