wind was fluttering the half-unfolded
leaf-buds, and spreading abroad the soft odour of violets and primroses
which covered the sunny slopes.

John's children, when they came in at Mrs. Walker's drawing-room window,
brought some of this delicate fragrance of the spring upon their hair
and clothes. Grown-up people are not in the habit of rolling about, or
tumbling down over beds of flowers. They must take the consequences, and
leave the ambrosial scents of the wood behind them.

John himself, who had not been prepared to see them run off from him at
the last moment, beheld their active little legs disappearing as they
got over the low ledge of the open window. He, however, did not follow
their example, but walked round to the front of the house, and was shown
into the drawing-room, after ringing the bell, Emily lifting up her
head at his entrance with evident surprise. He was surprised too, even
startled, for on a sofa opposite to her sat a lady whom he had been
thinking of a good deal during the previous month--her of the golden
head, Miss Justina Fairbairn. It was evident that the children had not
announced his intended call.

Miss Justina Fairbairn was the daughter of an old K.C.B. deceased. She
and her mother were poor, but they were much respected as sensible,
dignified women; and they had that kind of good opinion of themselves
which those who hold in sincerity (having no doubt or misgiving) can
generally spread among their friends.

Miss Fairbairn was a fine, tall woman, with something composed and even
motherly in her appearance; her fair and rather wide face had a
satisfied, calm expression, excepting when she chanced to meet John, and
then a flash would come from those cold blue eyes, a certain hope,
doubt, or feeling of suspense would assert itself in spite of her. It
never rose to actual expectation, for she was most reasonable; and John
had never shown her any attention; but she had a sincere conviction that
a marriage with her would be the best and most suitable that was
possible for him. It was almost inconceivable, she thought, that he
could escape the knowledge of this fact long. She was so every way
suitable. She was about thirty-two years of age, and she felt sure he
ought not to marry a younger woman.

Many people thought as she did, that Mr. Mortimer could not do better
than marry Miss Fairbairn; and it is highly probable that this opinion
had originated with herself, though it must be well unde