d, and smiled,
and looked silly at each other. "Is not all this very charming, Mr.
Stocmar?--at a season, too, when we should, in our own country, be
gathering round coal-fires and screening ourselves from draughts. I am
very angry with you,--very," whispered she, as she gave him her hand to
kiss, "and I am not at all sure if I mean ever to be friends with you
again."

And poor Mr. Stocmar bowed low and blushed, not through modesty,
indeed, but delight, for he felt like the schoolboy who, dreading to be
punished, hears he is to be rewarded.

"But I _am_ forgiven, am I not?" muttered he.

"Hush! Be cautious," whispered she. "Here comes Sir William Heathcote.
Can't you imagine yourself to have known him long ago?"

The hint was enough; and as the old Baronet held out his hand with his
accustomed warmth, Stocmar began a calculation of how many years had
elapsed since he had first enjoyed the honor of shaking that hand. This
is a sort of arithmetic elderly gentlemen have rather a liking for. It
is suggestive of so many pleasant little platitudes about "long ago,"
with anecdotic memories of poor dear Dick or Harry, that it rarely fails
to interest and amuse. And so they discussed whether it was not in '38
or '39,--whether in spring or in autumn,--if Boulter--"poor Tom," as
they laughingly called him--had not just married the widow at that
time; and, in fact, through the intervention of some mock dates and
imaginary incidents, they became to each other like very old friends.

Those debatable nothings are of great service to Englishmen who meet as
mere acquaintances; they relieve the awkwardness of looking out for a
topic, and they are better than the eternal question of the weather. Sir
William had, besides, a number of people to ask after, and Stocmar knew
everybody, and knew them, too, either by some nickname, or some little
anecdotic clew very amusing to those who have lived long enough in the
world to be interested by the same jokes on the same people,--a time of
life, of course, not ours, dear reader, though we may come to it one
day; and Captain Holmes listened to the reminiscences, and smiled, and
smirked, and "very true'd," to the great enjoyment of the others; while
Mrs. Morris stole noiselessly here and there, cutting camellias for a
bouquet, but not unwatchful of the scene.

"I hope and trust I have been misinformed about your plans here, Mr.
Stocmar," said Sir William, who was so happy to recall the names of