id the young
lady.

'Well,--small ones,' said the gentleman, stroking his chin. 'But the
Tower is a big lion itself. I believe _I_ should like to go to the
Tower. I have never been there yet, old as I am.'

'I do not want to go to the Tower,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I do not care
for that kind of thing. I should like to see the Temple, and Pitt's
chambers.'

'So should I,' said the younger lady.

'You might do worse,' said Pitt. 'Then to-morrow we will go to the
Temple, and to St. Paul's.'

'St. Paul's? _that_ will not hold us long, will it?' said Betty. 'Is it
so much to see?'

'A good deal, if you go through and study the monuments!'

'Well,' said Betty, 'I suppose it will be all delightful.'

But when she had retired to her room at night, her mood was not just
so. She sat down before her glass and ruminated. That case of coins,
and Pitt's old scholar, and the Gainsboroughs, who had not come home.
He would find them yet; yes, and Esther would one day be standing
before those coins; and Pitt would be showing them to her; and she--she
would enter into his talk about them, and would understand and have
sympathy, and there would be sympathy on other points too. If Esther
ever stood there, in that beautiful old library, it would be as
mistress and at home. Betty had a premonition of it; she put her hands
before her eyes to shut out the picture. Suppose she earned well of the
two and gained their lasting friendship by saying the words that would
bring them to each other? That was one way out of her difficulty. But
then, why should she? What right had Esther Gainsborough to be happy
more than Betty Frere? The other way out of her difficulty, namely, to
win Pitt's liking, would be much better; and then, they both of them
might be Esther's friends. For of one thing Betty was certain; _if_ she
could win Pitt, he would be won. No half way-work was possible with
him. He would never woo a woman he did not entirely love; and any woman
so loved by him would not need to fear any other woman; it would be
once for all. Betty had never, as it happened, met thoroughgoing truth
before; she recognised it and trusted it perfectly in Pitt; and it was
one of the things, she confessed to herself, that drew her most
mightily to him. A person whom she could absolutely believe, and always
be sure of. Whom else in the world could she trust so? Not her own
brothers; not her own father; mother she had none. How did she know so
securely that Pi