him, Sir
Lionel; that is, if I know anything about it."

"Ah, dearest friend, do you know anything about it? that is the very
question I want to ask you. Do you know anything about it? Sometimes
I have thought you knew nothing. And then sometimes I have thought,
been bold enough to think--" And Sir Lionel looked intently at the
handkerchief which covered her face; and Miss Todd looked furtively,
ever and anon, at Sir Lionel. "I declare I think it would do very
well," said Miss Todd to herself good-naturedly.

Miss Baker did not quite understand him, but she felt herself much
consoled. Sir Lionel was a remarkably handsome man; as to that
she had made up her mind long since: then he was a peculiarly
gentlemanlike man, a very friendly man, and a man who exactly suited
all her tastes. She had for some weeks past begun to think the day
tedious in which she did not see him; and now it was driven in upon
her mind that conversation was a much pleasanter occupation than
whist; that is, conversation with so highly-polished a man as Sir
Lionel Bertram. But, nevertheless, she did not quite understand what
he meant, nor did she know how she ought to answer it. Why need she
answer him at all? Could she not sit there, wiping her eyes softly
and comfortably, and listen to what might come next?

"I sometimes think that some women never love," said Sir Lionel.

"Perhaps they don't," said Miss Baker.

"And yet in the depth of many a heart there may be a fund of
passion."

"Oh, there may, certainly," said Miss Baker.

"And in your own, my friend? Is there no such fund there? Are there
no hidden depths there unexplored, still fresh, but still, perhaps
still to be reached?"

Again Miss Baker found it easiest to lie well back into her chair,
and wipe her eyes comfortably. She was not prepared to say much about
the depths of her own heart at so very short a notice.

Sir Lionel was again about to speak--and who can say what might have
come next, how far those hidden depths might have been tried?--when
he was arrested in the midst of his pathos by seeing Mrs. Garded
and Mr. Fuzzybell each rush to a shoulder of Lady Ruth Revoke. The
colonel quitted his love for the moment, and hurried to the distant
table; while Miss Baker, removing her handkerchief, sat up and gazed
at the scene of action.

The quarrelling had been going on unabated, but that had caused
little surprise. It is astonishing how soon the ear becomes used to
inciviliti