se? I thought it was a settled thing."

"I don't think you did," said Pratt, quietly.

"Well," said Fin, laughing, "Mr Mervyn told me the other day that--oh,
look at that now!"

The last words were said by Fin to herself; for as she mentioned Mr
Mervyn's name Pratt turned slowly away, and going to a table began to
turn over the leaves of a book.

In the meantime Lady Rea had had a few words with Trevor.

"I declare I felt quite frightened of her, my dear."

"It's her way only," said Trevor, smiling. "She nursed me like a
mother, Lady Rea; and she and her husband have for years done almost as
they liked here, only checked by the agent and my poor father's
executors, who seem to have come down once a year to look at the place
so long as they lived; but they have both gone now."

"She looked dreadfully cross, though, at Tiny--just as if, my dear, she
was horribly jealous of her. And now, Richard, my dear, you won't be
offended if I ask a favour of you?"

"Certainly not," said Trevor, in the same low whisper in which the
conversation was carried on.

"Then make her send that niece of hers away. After what you told me,
I'm sure it would be for the best; because while she is here the poor
woman will always be thinking of her disappointed plans."

"Well, but," said Trevor, smiling, "I was thinking of hurrying on her
marriage with my keeper, Humphrey; the poor fellow is desperately fond
of her, and, as far as I can make out, the feeling is mutual."

"Oh, if that's it," said Lady Rea, "pray don't do anything to make the
young people unhappy."

"Yes, Trevor," said Sir Hampton, "fifty feet by twenty will be the
size."

The conversation was carried on henceforth in voices pitched now in the
normal key.

The distance was so short that it was decided to walk back through the
moonlit lane, and as Trevor and Pratt accompanied the party, it was a
matter of course that Fin should walk papa off first, Lady Rea following
with Pratt, and Tiny lingering behind in the silvered arcades--dreamy,
loving, too happy to speak, and feeling that if life would but always be
the same, how could they ever tire?

Here, in the rugged lane, all was black darkness, and the gnarled tree
trunks seemed to spring from sable velvet. A few yards farther, a sheaf
of silver arrows seemed shot down through the foliage upon the laced
ferns that rose like a tiny forest of palms; down by their side there
was the rippling tinkle of water, gurglin