ase," said Jock, "and ask what he would
advise; for you see, Lucy, you and even I are not very experienced, and
MTutor, he knows such a lot. It would always be a good thing to have his
advice, you know; he----"

There was no telling how long Jock might have gone on on this subject.
But just at this moment a quick step came round the corner of a clump of
wood, and a hand was laid on the shoulder of each. "What are you
plotting about?" asked the voice of Sir Tom in their ears. It was a
curious sign of her mental condition which Lucy remembered with shame
afterwards, without being very well able to account for it, that she
suddenly dropped Jock's arm and turned round upon her husband with a
quick blush and access of breathing, as if somehow--she could not tell
how--she had been found out. It had never occurred to her before,
through all those long drawn out consultations, that she was concealing
anything from Sir Tom. She dropped Jock's arm as if it hurt her, and
turned to her husband in the twinkling of an eye.

"Jock," she said quickly, "and I--were talking about MTutor, Tom."

"Ah! once landed on that subject, and there is no telling when we may
come to an end," Sir Tom said, with a laugh, "but never mind, I like you
all the better for it, my boy."

Jock gave an astonished look at Lucy, a half-defiant one at her husband.

"That was only by the way," he said, lifting up his shoulders with a
little air of offence. He did not condescend to any further explanation,
but walked along by their side with a lofty abstraction, looking at them
now and then from the corner of his eye. Lucy had taken Sir Tom's arm,
and was hanging upon her tall husband, looking up in his face. The
little blush of surprise--or was it of guilt?--with which she had
received him was still upon her cheek. She was far more animated than
usual, almost a little agitated. She asked about the shooting, about the
bag, and how many brace was to Sir Tom's own gun, with that conciliating
interest which is one of the signs of a conscious fault; while Sir Tom,
on his side bending down to his little wife, received all her flatteries
with so complacent a smile, and such a beatific belief in her perfect
sincerity and devotion, that Jock, looking on from his superiority of
passionless youth, regarded them both with a wondering disdain. Why did
she "make up" in that way to her husband, dropping her brother as if she
had been plotting harm? Jock was amazed, he could