a leaned her elbows on the table, and looked happily at Mr.
Bennet, sitting so close to her on the other side of the white cloth,
ordering a lunch for her to eat. There was a charming intimacy about
the situation which could not help but appeal.

"Isn't this fun!" she exclaimed. "Just us!"

Mr. Bennet thought it was, indeed.

And he added instructions to the waiter, about the food which was to be
prepared for Arethusa to eat, which further added to the Charm of
things. The waiter hurried off with their order, as if he himself
deemed it no ordinary order.

Then, while they waited, Arethusa unrolled her parcel and showed Mr.
Bennet the shawl and told him all about Miss Asenath.

"It would be wonderful to be loved the way your aunt has loved that man
all these years," he said softly, when the Tale was ended, for Arethusa
had crowded every single bit of Romance connected with it into her
telling.

Her long eyelashes drooped suddenly over her eyes, and the little flush
which always came so quickly spread over her face and neck. Her unruly
heart beat even faster.

There was a soft, long silence, and Mr. Bennet, admiring the light of
the candle lamp on Arethusa's ruddy hair, smiled to himself as he
watched her. He had an idea that he knew just about what she was
thinking.

Arethusa was thinking that Mr. Bennet was undoubtedly the sort of man
that one would be sure to love just that way.

Now Mr. Bennet knew very well how Arethusa felt about him, and this
without any real conceit on his part. Arethusa was a woefully
transparent young person; she had never learned there are times when it
might seem best to dissemble a little. Mr. Bennet knew, perhaps, better
than she did herself, the exact state of her Feeling in regard to him.
There were some essential points on which they would not have agreed at
all; but still.... His main idea as to just how Arethusa felt was
pretty clear.

He leaned back in his chair, and continued to watch her. He could
almost have laughed aloud at her pretty confusion. Arethusa's nervous
fingers crumbled up a perfectly good slice of bread until it could be
of no use of any kind to anybody, her head still bent. If the Situation
had such charm, it had not lost altogether the power to embarrass, when
Words that could cause such Thoughts were softly spoken by a rich and
drawling Voice.

The waiter helped matters considerably by bringing in the soup.

Soup has never been regarded as much in the