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eye was upon her for a moment; then Mrs. Hartley's face expanded in a benignant smile. "Ah, I see you are very clever," she said. "I ask the question--not from idle curiosity, because I have representatives of both in the room at the present moment. There is a poet, whom I mean to introduce you to by and by, if you will allow me; and there is the very embodiment of prose close beside you, although I don't believe that he writes any, and, like M. Jourdain, talks it without knowing that it is prose." Lettice glanced involuntarily at the man beside her, and glanced again. Where had she seen his face before? He was a rather stout, blonde man, with an honest open countenance that she liked, although it expressed good nature rather than intellectual force. "Don't you remember him?" said Mrs. Hartley, in her ear. "He's a cousin of mine: Brooke Dalton, whose uncle used to live at Angleford. He has been wanting to meet you very much; he remembers you quite well, he tells me." The color rose in Lettice's face. She was feminine enough to feel that a connecting link between Mrs. Hartley and her dear old home changed her views of her hostess at once. She looked up and smiled. "I remember Mr. Dalton too," she said. "What a sweet face!" Mrs. Hartley said to herself. "Now if Brooke would only take it into his head to settle down----" And aloud she added: "Brooke, come and be introduced to Miss Campion. You used to know her at Angleford." "It seems a long time since I saw you," Mr. Dalton said, rather clumsily, as he took Lettice's hand into a very cordial clasp. "It was that day in December when your brother had just got his scholarship at Trinity." "Oh, yes; that day! I remember it very well," said Lettice, drawing a long breath, which was not exactly a sigh, although it sounded like one. "I gave up being a child on that day, I believe!" "There have been many changes since then." Brooke Dalton was not brilliant in conversation. "You have heard of them all, I suppose? Yes, my mother and I are in London now." "You will allow me to call, I hope?" Lettice had but time to signify her consent, when Mrs. Hartley seized on her again, but this time Lettice did not so much object to be cross-examined. She recognized the fact that Mrs. Hartley's aim was kindly, and she submitted to be asked questions about her work and her prospects, and to answer them with a frankness that amazed herself. But in the very midst of the
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