in one's house, one has
to wait for an opportunity to escape from them unremarked. And the
opportunity, in fact, did not come for many days; not till the party
broke up, save one or two dowager she-cousins who "gave no trouble," and
one or two bachelor he-cousins whom my lord retained to consummate the
slaughter of pheasants, and play at billiards in the dreary intervals
between sunset and dinner, dinner and bedtime.

Then one cheerful frosty noon George Morley and his fair cousin walked
boldly _en evidence_, before the prying ghostly windows, across the
broad gravel walks; gained the secluded shrubbery, the solitary deeps
of park-land; skirted the wide sheet of water, and, passing through
a private wicket in the paling, suddenly came upon the patch of
osier-ground and humble garden, which were backed by the basketmaker's
cottage.

As they entered those lowly precincts a child's laugh was borne to their
ears,--a child's silvery, musical, mirthful laugh; it was long since the
great lady had heard a laugh like that,--a happy child's natural laugh.
She paused and listened with a strange pleasure. "Yes," whispered George
Morley, "stop--and hush! there they are."

Waife was seated on the stump of a tree, materials for his handicraft
lying beside neglected. Sophy was standing before him,--he raising his
finger as if in reproof, and striving hard to frown. As the intruders
listened, they overheard that he was striving to teach her the rudiments
of French dialogue, and she was laughing merrily at her own blunders,
and at the solemn affectation of the shocked schoolmaster. Lady Montfort
noted with no unnatural surprise the purity of idiom and of accent with
which this singular basketmaker was unconsciously displaying his perfect
knowledge of a language which the best-educated English gentleman of
that generation, nay, even of this, rarely speaks with accuracy and
elegance. But her attention was diverted immediately from the teacher to
the face of the sweet pupil. Women have a quick appreciation of beauty
in their own sex; and women who are themselves beautiful, not the
least. Irresistibly Lady Montfort felt attracted towards that innocent
countenance so lively in its mirth, and yet so softly gay. Sir Isaac,
who had hitherto lain _perdu_, watching the movements of a thrush amidst
a holly-bush, now started up with a bark. Waife rose; Sophy turned half
in flight. The visitors approached.

Here slowly, lingeringly, let fall the