Priscilla was stopped by some chance, having some word to say to
her brother, having some other word to say to Mrs. Trevelyan. Could
it be that her austerity had been softened, and that in kindness she
contrived that Nora should be left some yards behind them with her
brother? Whether it were kindness, or an unkind error, so it was.
Nora, when she perceived what destiny was doing for her, would not
interfere with destiny. If he chose to speak to her she would hear
him and would answer him. She knew very well what answer she would
give him. She had her answer quite ready at her fingers' ends. There
was no doubt about her answer.

They had walked half a mile together and he had spoken of nothing but
the scenery. She had endeavoured to appear to be excited. Oh, yes,
the scenery of Devonshire was delightful. She hardly wanted anything
more to make her happy. If only this misery respecting her sister
could be set right!

"And you, you yourself," said he, "do you mean that there is nothing
you want in leaving London?"

"Not much, indeed."

"It sometimes seemed to me that that kind of life was,--was very
pleasant to you."

"What kind of life, Mr. Stanbury?"

"The life that you were living,--going out, being admired, and having
the rich and dainty all around you."

"I don't dislike people because they are rich," she said.

"No; nor do I; and I despise those who affect to dislike them. But
all cannot be rich."

"Nor all dainty, as you choose to call them."

"But they who have once been dainty,--as I call them,--never like
to divest themselves of their daintiness. You have been one of the
dainty, Miss Rowley."

"Have I?"

"Certainly; I doubt whether you would be happy if you thought that
your daintiness had departed from you."

"I hope, Mr. Stanbury, that nothing nice and pleasant has departed
from me. If I have ever been dainty, dainty I hope I may remain. I
will never, at any rate, give it up of my own accord." Why she said
this, she could never explain to herself. She had certainly not
intended to rebuff him when she had been saying it. But he spoke not
a word to her further as they walked home, either of her mode of life
or of his own.

CHAPTER XXV.

HUGH STANBURY SMOKES HIS PIPE.

[Illustration]

Nora Rowley, when she went to bed, after her walk to Niddon Park in
company with Hugh Stanbury, was full of wrath against him. But she
could not own her anger to herself, nor could she even confes