<i>is</i> better?" he said, with an anxiety that became him.

"Oh yes! Your election has been everything to her--and your letters. You
know how she adores you, William."

Ashe drew a long breath.

"Yes--isn't it bad luck?"

"William!"

"For her, I mean. Because, you know--I can't live up to it. I know it's
her doing--bless her!--that old Parham's going to give me this thing.
And it's a perfect scandal!"

"What nonsense, William!"

"It is!" he maintained, springing up and standing before her, with his
hands in his pockets. "They're going to offer me the Under-Secretaryship
for Foreign Affairs, and I shall take it, I suppose, and be thankful.
And do you know"--he dropped out the words with emphasis--"that I don't
know a word of German--and I can't talk to a Frenchman for half an hour
without disgracing myself. There--that's how we're governed!"

He stood staring at her with his bright large eyes--amused, yet
strangely detached--as though he had very little to do with what he was
talking about.

Mary Lyster met his look in some bewilderment, conscious all the time
that his neighborhood was very agreeable and stirring.

"But every one says--you speak so well on foreign subjects."

"Well, any fool can get up a Blue Book. Only--luckily for me--all the
fools don't. That's how I've scored sometimes. Oh! I don't deny
that--I've scored!" He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, his
whole tall frame vibrant, as it seemed to her, with will and good-humor.

"And you'll score again," she said, smiling. "You've got a wonderful
opportunity, William. That's what the Bishop says."

"Much obliged to him!"

Ashe looked down upon her rather oddly.

"He told me he had never believed you were such an idler as other people
thought you--that he felt sure you had great endowments, and that you
would use them for the good of your country, and"--she hesitated
slightly--"of the Church. I wish you'd talk to him sometimes, William.
He sees so clearly."

"Oh! does he?" said Ashe.

Mary had dropped her work, and her face--a little too broad, with
features a trifle too strongly marked--was raised towards him. Its pale
color had passed into a slight blush. But the more strenuous expression
had somehow not added to her charm, and her voice had taken a slightly
nasal tone.

Through the mind of William Ashe, as he stood looking down upon her,
passed a multitude of flying impressions. He knew perfectly well that
Mary Lyster was on