shing
to the colour of Winnie's cheeks, with sudden delight and young
happiness.

'You precious little soul!' I cried: 'how does Tom behave to you?'

'Hush!' said Annie: 'how dare you ask? He is the kindest, and the best,
and the noblest of all men, John; not even setting yourself aside. Now
look not jealous, John: so it is. We all have special gifts, you know.
You are as good as you can be, John; but my husband's special gift is
nobility of character.' Here she looked at me, as one who has discovered
something quite unknown.

'I am devilish glad to hear it,' said I, being touched at going down so:
'keep him to that mark, my dear; and cork the whisky bottle.'

'Yes, darling John,' she answered quickly, not desiring to open that
subject, and being too sweet to resent it: 'and how is lovely Lorna?
What an age it is since I have seen you! I suppose we must thank her for
that.'

'You may thank her for seeing me now,' said I; 'or rather,'--seeing how
hurt she looked,--'you may thank my knowledge of your kindness, and my
desire to speak of her to a soft-hearted dear little soul like you. I
think all the women are gone mad. Even mother treats me shamefully. And
as for Lizzie--' Here I stopped, knowing no words strong enough, without
shocking Annie.

'Do you mean to say that Lorna is gone?' asked Annie, in great
amazement; yet leaping at the truth, as women do, with nothing at all to
leap from.

'Gone. And I never shall see her again. It serves me right for aspiring
so.'

Being grieved at my manner, she led me in where none could interrupt
us; and in spite of all my dejection, I could not help noticing how very
pretty and even elegant all things were around. For we upon Exmoor have
little taste; all we care for is warm comfort, and plenty to eat and to
give away, and a hearty smack in everything. But Squire Faggus had seen
the world, and kept company with great people; and the taste he had
first displayed in the shoeing of farmers' horses (which led almost to
his ruin, by bringing him into jealousy, and flattery, and dashing ways)
had now been cultivated in London, and by moonlight, so that none could
help admiring it.

'Well!' I cried, for the moment dropping care and woe in astonishment:
'we have nothing like this at Plover's Barrows; nor even Uncle Reuben. I
do hope it is honest, Annie?'

'Would I sit in a chair that was not my own?' asked Annie, turning
crimson, and dropping defiantly, and with a whisk of her