to listen to him; and
to-night he was particularly tedious on his usual topics--draining, and
tenant-farmers, and the village people. I must take daddy to London; he
gets so narrow always staying here.'

'And what did you say to it all?'

'Well, I took the part of the tenant-farmers, of course, as the beloved
of one should in duty do.' There followed a little break or gasp,
implying a strangled sigh.

'You are sorry you have encouraged that beloving one?'

'O no, Nicholas . . . What is it you want to see me for particularly?'

'I know you are sorry, as time goes on, and everything is at a dead-lock,
with no prospect of change, and your rural swain loses his freshness!
Only think, this secret understanding between us has lasted near three
year, ever since you was a little over sixteen.'

'Yes; it has been a long time.'

'And I an untamed, uncultivated man, who has never seen London, and knows
nothing about society at all.'

'Not uncultivated, dear Nicholas. Untravelled, socially unpractised, if
you will,' she said, smiling. 'Well, I did sigh; but not because I
regret being your promised one. What I do sometimes regret is that the
scheme, which my meetings with you are but a part of, has not been
carried out completely. You said, Nicholas, that if I consented to swear
to keep faith with you, you would go away and travel, and see nations,
and peoples, and cities, and take a professor with you, and study books
and art, simultaneously with your study of men and manners; and then come
back at the end of two years, when I should find that my father would by
no means be indisposed to accept you as a son-in-law. You said your
reason for wishing to get my promise before starting was that your mind
would then be more at rest when you were far away, and so could give
itself more completely to knowledge than if you went as my unaccepted
lover only, fuming with anxiety as to how I should be when you came back.
I saw how reasonable that was; and solemnly swore myself to you in
consequence. But instead of going to see the world you stay on and on
here to see me.'

'And you don't want me to see you?'

'Yes--no--it is not that. It is that I have latterly felt frightened at
what I am doing when not in your actual presence. It seems so wicked not
to tell my father that I have a lover close at hand, within touch and
view of both of us; whereas if you were absent my conduct would not seem
quite so treacherous. The rea