eur melted before
Mary's frank simplicity, and they became friends as fast as two ladies
could beyond the age of romantic plunges, where on one side there was
good-will without enthusiasm, on the other enthusiasm and reserve.
They called each other 'Miss Conway' and 'Miss Ponsonby,' and exchanged
no family secrets; but they were, for all that, faster friends than
young ladies under twenty might imagine.

One winter's day, the crisp, exhilarating frost had lured them far
along the high road beyond Mr. Calcott's park palings, talking over
Isabel's favourite theme, what to wish for her little brother, when the
sound of a large clock striking three made Isabel ask where she was.

'It was the stable clock at Ormersfield,' said Mary, 'did you not know
we were on that road?'

'No, I did not.' And Isabel would have turned, but Mary begged her to
take a few steps up the lane, that they might see how Lord
Fitzjocelyn's new cottages looked. Isabel complied, and added, after a
pause, 'Are you one of Lord Fitzjocelyn's worshippers?'

'I should not like to worship any one,' said Mary, looking
straightforward. 'I am very fond of him, because I have known him all
my life. And he is so good!'

'Then I think I may consider you exempt! It is the only fault I have
to find with Northwold. You are the only person who does not rave
about him--the only person who has not mentioned his name.'

'Have I not? I think that was very unkind of me--'

'Very kind to me,' said Isabel.

'I meant, to him,' said Mary, blushing; 'if you thought that I did not
think most highly of him--'

'Don't go on! I was just going to trust to you for a calm,
dispassionate statement of his merits, and I shall soon lose all my
faith in you.'

'My mother--' began Mary; but just then Lord Ormersfield came forth
from one of the cottages, and encountered the young ladies. He
explained that Fitzjocelyn was coming home next week, and he had come
to see how his last orders had been executed, since Frampton and the
carpenter had sometimes chosen to think for themselves. He was very
anxious that all should be right, and, after a few words, revealed a
perplexity about ovens and boilers, in which Mary's counsel would be
invaluable. So, with apologies and ceremonies to Miss Conway, they
entered, and Isabel stood waiting in the dull kitchen, smelling of raw
plaster, wondering at the extreme eagerness of the discussion with the
mason over the yawning boiler, the