knocking at the door?"

"I think one knocks when one wants a moment of reprieve."

"You mean to say that you are bashful in assuming your new
privileges. Then you had better go back to your old habits, because
you always used to come where I was. You must come and go now like my
very second self." Then he came forward from the desk at which he was
wont to stand and write, and essayed to put his arm round her waist.
She drew back, but still he was not startled. "It was but a cold kiss
I gave you down below. You must kiss me now, you, as a wife kisses
her husband."

"Never."

"What!" Now he was startled.

"Mr Whittlestaff, pray--pray do not be angry with me."

"What is the meaning of it?"

Then she bethought herself,--how she might best explain the meaning.
It was hard upon her, this having to explain it, and she told
herself, very foolishly, that it would be better for her to begin
with the story of Mrs Baggett. She could more easily speak of Mrs
Baggett than of John Gordon. But it must be remembered, on her
behalf, that she had but a second to think how she might best begin
her story. "I have spoken to Mrs Baggett about your wishes."

"Well!"

"She has lived with you and your family from before you were born."

"She is an old fool. Who is going to hurt her? And if it did hurt
her, are you and I to be put out of our course because of her? She
can remain here as long as she obeys you as her mistress."

"She says that after so many years she cannot do that."

"She shall leave the house this very night, if she disturbs your
happiness and mine. What! is an old woman like that to tell her
master when he may and when he may not marry? I did not think you had
been so soft."

She could not explain it all to him,--all that she thought upon the
subject. She could not say that the interference of any domestic
between such a one as John Gordon and his love,--between him and her
if she were happy enough to be his love,--would be an absurdity too
foolish to be considered. They, that happy two, would be following
the bent of human nature, and would speak no more than a soft word to
the old woman, if a soft word might avail anything. Their love, their
happy love, would be a thing too sacred to admit of any question
from any servant, almost from any parent. But why, in this matter,
was not Mrs Baggett's happiness to be of as much consequence as Mr
Whittlestaff's;--especially when her own peace of mind lay in the
same d