dy taught herself to understand. She was inclined to believe
that but few men of business do write letters willingly, and that, of
all men, lawyers are the least willing to do so. How reasonable it
was that a man who had to perform a great part of his daily work with
a pen in his hand, should loathe a pen when not at work. To her the
writing of letters was perhaps the most delightful occupation of her
life, and the writing of letters to her lover was a foretaste of
heaven; but then men, as she knew, are very different from women. And
she knew this also,--that of all her immediate duties, no duty could
be clearer than that of abstaining from all jealousy, petulance, and
impatient expectation of little attentions. He loved her, and had
told her so, and had promised her that she should be his wife, and
that ought to be enough for her. She was longing for a letter,
because she was very anxious to know whether she might mention his
name to Lady Linlithgow;--but she would abstain from any idea of
blaming him because the letter did not come.

On various occasions the countess showed some little curiosity about
the lover; and at last, after about ten days, when she found herself
beginning to be intimate with her new companion, she put the question
point-blank. "I hate mysteries," she said. "Who is the young man you
are to marry?"

"He is a gentleman I've known a long time."

"That's no answer."

"I don't want to tell his name quite yet, Lady Linlithgow."

"Why shouldn't you tell his name, unless it's something improper? Is
he a gentleman?"

"Yes;--he is a gentleman."

"And how old?"

"Oh, I don't know;--perhaps thirty-two."

"And has he any money?"

"He has his profession."

"I don't like these kind of secrets, Miss Morris. If you won't say
who he is, what was the good of telling me that you were engaged at
all? How is a person to believe it?"

"I don't want you to believe it."

"Highty, tighty!"

"I told you my own part of the affair, because I thought you ought
to know it as I was coming into your house. But I don't see that you
ought to know his part of it. As for not believing, I suppose you
believed Lady Fawn?"

"Not a bit better than I believe you. People don't always tell truth
because they have titles, nor yet because they've grown old. He don't
live in London;--does he?"

"He generally lives in London. He is a barrister."

"Oh,--oh; a barrister is he. They're always making a heap of money,
or e