d her work. She was certainly treating
him with more indifference than usual: she did not know how
affectionately indignant he had felt on her behalf up-stairs.

"May I stay here a little, Mary, or shall I bore you?"

"Pray sit down," said Mary; "you will not be so heavy a bore as Mr.
John Waule, who was here yesterday, and he sat down without asking my
leave."

"Poor fellow! I think he is in love with you."

"I am not aware of it. And to me it is one of the most odious things
in a girl's life, that there must always be some supposition of falling
in love coming between her and any man who is kind to her, and to whom
she is grateful. I should have thought that I, at least, might have
been safe from all that. I have no ground for the nonsensical vanity
of fancying everybody who comes near me is in love with me."

Mary did not mean to betray any feeling, but in spite of herself she
ended in a tremulous tone of vexation.

"Confound John Waule! I did not mean to make you angry. I didn't know
you had any reason for being grateful to me. I forgot what a great
service you think it if any one snuffs a candle for you. Fred also had
his pride, and was not going to show that he knew what had called forth
this outburst of Mary's.

"Oh, I am not angry, except with the ways of the world. I do like to
be spoken to as if I had common-sense. I really often feel as if I
could understand a little more than I ever hear even from young
gentlemen who have been to college." Mary had recovered, and she spoke
with a suppressed rippling under-current of laughter pleasant to hear.

"I don't care how merry you are at my expense this morning," said Fred,
"I thought you looked so sad when you came up-stairs. It is a shame you
should stay here to be bullied in that way."

"Oh, I have an easy life--by comparison. I have tried being a teacher,
and I am not fit for that: my mind is too fond of wandering on its own
way. I think any hardship is better than pretending to do what one is
paid for, and never really doing it. Everything here I can do as well
as any one else could; perhaps better than some--Rosy, for example.
Though she is just the sort of beautiful creature that is imprisoned
with ogres in fairy tales."

"_Rosy!_" cried Fred, in a tone of profound brotherly scepticism.

"Come, Fred!" said Mary, emphatically; "you have no right to be so
critical."

"Do you mean anything particular--just now?"

"No, I mean something