t the fire
out! Miss Lupin contrived to indicate condescension in her attitude,
while dealing with its reconstruction. No conversation could have
survived such an inroad, and by the time Miss Lupin had asked if she
should remove the tea etceteras, the review of Pomona's family was
forgotten, and Destiny was baffled.

Another floating spark went even nearer to the tinder, when, going back
to Dave and Dolly, old Maisie talked of the pleasure of having the
little girl at home, now that Dave was so much away at school. She was
getting dim in thought and irresponsible when she gave Widow Thrale this
chance insight into her early days. It was a sort of slip of the mind
that betrayed her into saying:--"Ah, my dear, the little one makes me
think of my own little child I left behind me, that died--oh, such a
many years ago!..." Her voice broke into such audible distress that her
hearer could not pry behind her meaning; could only murmur a sympathetic
nothing. The old lady's words that followed seemed to revoke her
lapse:--"Long and long ago, before ever you were born, I should say. But
she was my only little girl, and I keep her in mind, even now." Had not
Widow Thrale hesitated, it might have come out that _her_ mother had
fled from her at the very time, and that her own name was Ruth. How
could suspicion have passed tiptoe over such a running stream of
possible surmise, and landed dryfoot?

But nothing came of it. There was nothing in a child that died before
she was born, to provoke comparison of her own dim impressions of her
mother's departure--for old Phoebe had kept much of the tale in
abeyance--and her comments hung fire in a sympathetic murmur. She felt,
though, that the way she had appeased her thirst for infancy might be
told, appropriately; dwelling particularly on the pleasures of
nourishing convalescents up to kissing-point, as the ogress we have
compared her to might have done up to readiness for the table. Old
Maisie was quite ready to endorse all her views and experiences,
enjoying especially the account of Dave's rapid recovery, and his
neglected Ariadne.

A conclusive sound crept into the conversation of Mrs. Solmes and the
housekeeper, always audible without. "I think I hear my Cousin Keziah
going," said Mrs. Thrale. "I must not keep her."

"Thank you, my dear! I mean--thank you for coming to see me!" It was the
second time old Maisie had said "my dear" to this acquaintance of an
hour. But then, her face