sciousness
of her physical self, took off her gloves and then her hat, that the
soft breeze might blow on her head. They were in a retired bit of the
road, where the long afternoon shadows from the bordering trees fell
across it and no observers were within sight. Her eyes continued to
meet her mother's, but she did not speak.

"Mr. Grandcourt has been saying something?--Tell me, dear." The last
words were uttered beseechingly.

"What am I to tell you, mamma?" was the perverse answer.

"I am sure something has agitated you. You ought to confide in me,
Gwen. You ought not to leave me in doubt and anxiety." Mrs. Davilow's
eyes filled with tears.

"Mamma, dear, please don't be miserable," said Gwendolen, with pettish
remonstrance. "It only makes me more so. I am in doubt myself."

"About Mr. Grandcourt's intentions?" said Mrs. Davilow, gathering
determination from her alarms.

"No; not at all," said Gwendolen, with some curtness, and a pretty
little toss of the head as she put on her hat again.

"About whether you will accept him, then?"

"Precisely."

"Have you given him a doubtful answer?"

"I have given him no answer at all."

"He _has_ spoken so that you could not misunderstand him?"

"As far as I would let him speak."

"You expect him to persevere?" Mrs. Davilow put this question rather
anxiously, and receiving no answer, asked another: "You don't consider
that you have discouraged him?"

"I dare say not."

"I thought you liked him, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, timidly.

"So I do, mamma, as liking goes. There is less to dislike about him
than about most men. He is quiet and _distingue_." Gwendolen so far
spoke with a pouting sort of gravity; but suddenly she recovered some
of her mischievousness, and her face broke into a smile as she
added--"Indeed he has all the qualities that would make a husband
tolerable--battlement, veranda, stable, etc., no grins and no glass in
his eye."

"Do be serious with me for a moment, dear. Am I to understand that you
mean to accept him?"

"Oh, pray, mamma, leave me to myself," said Gwendolen, with a pettish
distress in her voice.

And Mrs. Davilow said no more.

When they got home Gwendolen declared that she would not dine. She was
tired, and would come down in the evening after she had taken some
rest. The probability that her uncle would hear what had passed did not
trouble her. She was convinced that whatever he might say would be on
the side of her acceptin