nner. "I shall hardly
see you to-morrow," he said, "as I must leave this at half-past
eight. I breakfast at eight. I don't suppose any one will be down
except my mother."

"I am generally as early as that. I will come down and see you
start."

"I am so glad that you have been here, Emily."

"So am I. Everybody has been so good to me."

"It has been like old days,--almost."

"It will never quite be like old days again, I think. But I have been
very glad to be here,--and at Wharton. I sometimes almost wish that I
were never going back to London again,--only for papa."

"I like London myself."

"You! Yes, of course you like London. You have everything in life
before you. You have things to do, and much to hope for. It is all
beginning for you, Arthur."

"I am five years older than you are."

"What does that matter? It seems to me that age does not go by years.
It is long since I have felt myself to be an old woman. But you are
quite young. Everybody is proud of you, and you ought to be happy."

"I don't know," said he. "It is hard to say what makes a person
happy." He almost made up his mind to speak to her then; but he had
made up his mind before to put it off still for a little time, and he
would not allow himself to be changed on the spur of the moment. He
had thought of it much, and he had almost taught himself to think
that it would be better for herself that she should not accept
another man's love so soon. "I shall come and see you in town," he
said.

"You must come and see papa. It seems that Everett is to be a great
deal at Wharton. I had better go up to dress now, or I shall be
keeping them waiting." He put out his hand to her, and wished her
good-bye, excusing himself by saying that they should not be alone
together again before he started.

She saw him go on the next morning,--and then she almost felt herself
to be abandoned, almost deserted. It was a fine crisp winter day, dry
and fresh and clear, but with the frost still on the ground. After
breakfast she went out to walk by herself in the long shrubbery paths
which went round the house, and here she remained for above an hour.
She told herself that she was very thankful to him for not having
spoken to her on a subject so unfit for her ears as love. She
strengthened herself in her determination never again to listen to a
man willingly on that subject. She had made herself unfit to have any
dealings of that nature. It was not that she could no