ment it is
gone. She had scarcely realized that the hour had come before he was
whirled off from her, and the swinging line of carriages disappeared
round the next curve. She stood looking vaguely after it till the old
porter came up, who had known her ever since she was a child.

"Beg your pardon, miss, but the pony is a-waiting," he said. And then he
uttered his sympathy in the form of a question:--"Coming back very soon,
miss, ain't the gentleman?" he said.

"Oh, yes; very soon," she said, rousing herself up.

"And if I may make bold to say it, miss," said the porter, "an
open-hearted gentleman as ever I see. There's many as gives us a
threepenny for more than I've done for 'im. And look at what he's give
me," he said, showing the half-crown in his hand.

Did he do that from calculation to please her, ungracious girl as she
was, who was so hard to please? But he never could have known that
she would see it. She walked through the little station to the pony
carriage, feeling that all the eyes of the people about were upon her.
They were all sympathetic, all equally aware that she had just parted
with her lover: all ready to cheer her, if she had given them an
opportunity, by reminding her of his early return. The old porter
followed her out, and assisted at her ascent into the pony carriage. He
said, solemnly, "And an 'andsome gentleman, miss, as ever I see," as he
fastened the apron over her feet. She gave him a friendly nod as she
drove away.

How dreadful it is to be so sensitive, to receive a wound so easily!
Elinor was vexed more than she could say by her lover's denial of the
reckless generosity with which she had credited him. To think that he
had done it in order to produce the effect which had given her so
distinct a sensation of pleasure changed that effect into absolute
pain. And yet in the fantastic susceptibility of her nature, there was
something in old Judkin's half-crown which soothed her again. A shilling
would have been generous, Elinor said to herself, with a feminine
appreciation of the difference of small things as well as great, whereas
half-a-crown was lavish--ergo, he gave the sovereign also out of natural
prodigality, as she had hoped, not out of calculation as he said. She
drove soberly home, thinking over all these things in a mood very
different from that triumphant happiness with which she started from
the cottage with Phil by her side. The sunshine was still as bright,
but it had ta