tray," she said, "do not touch them, do not let us have
anything to do with them. I wanted poor dear Mr Sharnall not to go
meddling with them, and now see what has happened. Perhaps it is a
judgment"--and she uttered the word under her breath, having a medieval
faith in the vengeful irritability of Providence, and seeing
manifestations of it in any untoward event, from the overturning of an
inkstand to the death of a lodger. "Perhaps it is a judgment, and he
might have been alive now if he had refrained. What good would it do us
if all dear Martin hoped should turn out true? He always said, poor
fellow, that he would be `my lord' some day; but now he is gone there is
no one except Anastasia, and she would never wish to be `my lady,' I am
sure, poor girl. You would not, darling, wish to be `my lady' even if
you could, would you?"

Anastasia looked up from her book with a deprecating smile, which lost
itself in an air of vexation, when she found that the architect's eyes
were fixed steadfastly upon her, and that a responsive smile spread over
his face. She flushed very slightly, and turned back abruptly to her
book, feeling quite unjustifiably annoyed at the interest in her doings
which the young man's gaze was meant to imply. What right had he to
express concern, even with a look, in matters which affected _her_? She
almost wished she _was_ indeed a peeress, and could slay him with her
noble birth, as did one Lady Clara of old times. It was only lately
that she had become conscious of this interested, would-be interesting,
look, which Westray assumed in her presence. Was it possible that _he_
was falling in love with her? And at the thought there rose before her
fancy the features of someone else, haughty, hard, perhaps malign, but
oh, so powerful, and quite eclipsed and blotted out the lifeless
amiability of this young man who hung upon her lips.

Could Mr Westray be thinking of falling in love with her? It was
impossible, and yet this following her with his eyes, and the mellific
manner which he adopted when speaking to her, insisted on its
possibility. She ran over hastily in her mind, as she had done several
times of late, the course of their relations. Was she to blame? Could
anything that she had ever done be wrested into predilection or even
into appreciation? Could natural kindness or courtesy have been so
utterly misunderstood? She was victoriously acquitted by this
commission of mental inquir