eclared that she did not know a prettier vicarage-house
in the county than St. Ewold's, Mrs. Bold, remembering the projected
bow-window and the projected priestess, still held her tongue, though
her ears tingled with the conviction that all the world knew that she
was in love with Mr. Arabin. Well, what would that matter if they
could only meet and tell each other what each now longed to tell?

And they did meet. Mr. Arabin came early in the day and found the two
ladies together at work in the drawing-room. Miss Thorne, who, had
she known all the truth, would have vanished into air at once, had
no conception that her immediate absence would be a blessing, and
remained chatting with them till luncheon-time. Mr. Arabin could talk
about nothing but the Signora Neroni's beauty, would discuss no people
but the Stanhopes. This was very distressing to Eleanor and not very
satisfactory to Miss Thorne. But yet there was evidence of innocence
in his open avowal of admiration.

And then they had lunch, and then Mr. Arabin went out on parish duty,
and Eleanor and Miss Thorne were left to take a walk together.

"Do you think the Signora Neroni is so lovely as people say?" Eleanor
asked as they were coming home.

"She is very beautiful, certainly, very beautiful," Miss Thorne
answered; "but I do not know that anyone considers her lovely. She
is a woman all men would like to look at, but few, I imagine, would
be glad to take her to their hearths, even were she unmarried and not
afflicted as she is."

There was some little comfort in this. Eleanor made the most of
it till she got back to the house. She was then left alone in the
drawing-room, and just as it was getting dark Mr. Arabin came in.

It was a beautiful afternoon in the beginning of October, and Eleanor
was sitting in the window to get the advantage of the last daylight
for her novel. There was a fire in the comfortable room, but the
weather was not cold enough to make it attractive; and as she could
see the sun set from where she sat, she was not very attentive to her
book.

Mr. Arabin, when he entered, stood awhile with his back to the
fire in his usual way, merely uttering a few commonplace remarks
about the beauty of the weather, while he plucked up courage for
more interesting converse. It cannot probably be said that he
had resolved then and there to make an offer to Eleanor. Men, we
believe, seldom make such resolves. Mr. Slope and Mr. Stanhope had
done so, it