it occurred to Esther how odd it
was that her father should have been so reticent; that he should not
have so much as informed her who his visitor had been. And then it also
occurred to her how he had desired not to be called down to see anybody
that morning. Then it must be that he did not want to see Pitt? Had he
taken a dislike to him? disapproved of his marriage, perhaps? And how
would luncheon be under these circumstances? One thought succeeded
another in growing confusion, but then Pitt began to talk, and she was
obliged to attend to him.

'Then your father did not tell you that I have become a householder
too?'

'I--no--yes! I heard something said about it,' Esther answered,
stammering.

'He told you of my old uncle's death and gift to me?'

'No, nothing of that. What is it?'

Then Pitt began and gave her the whole story: of his life with his
uncle, of Mr. Strahan's excellences and peculiarities, of his favour,
his illness and death, and the property he had bequeathed intact to his
grand-nephew. He described the house at Kensington, finding a singular
pleasure in talking about it; for, as his imagination recalled the old
chambers and halls, it constantly brought into them the sweet figure of
the girl he was speaking to, and there was a play of light often, or a
warm glow, or a sudden sparkle in his eyes, which Esther could not help
noticing. Woman-like, she was acute enough also to interpret it
rightly; only, to be sure, she never put _herself_ in the place of the
person concerned, but gave all that secret homage to another. 'It is
like Pitt!' she thought, with a suppressed sigh which she could not
stop to criticize,--'it is like him; as much in earnest in love as in
other things; always in earnest! It must be something to be loved so.'
However, carrying on such aside reflections, she kept all the while her
calm, sweet, dignified manner, which was bewitching Pitt, and entered
with generous interest into all he told her; supplying in her own way
what he did not tell, and on her part also peopling the halls and
chambers at Kensington with two figures, neither of which was her own.
Her imagination flew back to the party, a year ago, at which she had
seen Betty Frere, and mixed up things recklessly. How would _she_ fit
into this new life of Pitt, of which he had been speaking a little
while ago? Had she changed too, perhaps? It was to be hoped!

Pitt ended what he had to say about his uncle and his house, and