me step
approaches, and not Henry's."

The door unclosed; Miss Keeldar came in. The message, it appeared, had
found her at her needle; she brought her work in her hand. That day she
had not been riding out; she had evidently passed it quietly. She wore
her neat indoor dress and silk apron. This was no Thalestris from the
fields, but a quiet domestic character from the fireside. Mr. Moore had
her at advantage. He should have addressed her at once in solemn
accents, and with rigid mien. Perhaps he would, had she looked saucy;
but her air never showed less of _cranerie_. A soft kind of youthful
shyness depressed her eyelid and mantled on her cheek. The tutor stood
silent.

She made a full stop between the door and his desk.

"Did you want me, sir?" she asked.

"I ventured, Miss Keeldar, to send for you--that is, to ask an interview
of a few minutes."

She waited; she plied her needle.

"Well, sir" (not lifting her eyes), "what about?"

"Be seated first. The subject I would broach is one of some moment.
Perhaps I have hardly a right to approach it. It is possible I ought to
frame an apology; it is possible no apology can excuse me. The liberty I
have taken arises from a conversation with Henry. The boy is unhappy
about your health; all your friends are unhappy on that subject. It is
of your health I would speak."

"I am quite well," she said briefly.

"Yet changed."

"That matters to none but myself. We all change."

"Will you sit down? Formerly, Miss Keeldar, I had some influence with
you: have I any now? May I feel that what I am saying is not accounted
positive presumption?"

"Let me read some French, Mr. Moore, or I will even take a spell at the
Latin grammar, and let us proclaim a truce to all sanitary discussions."

"No, no. It is time there were discussions."

"Discuss away, then, but do not choose me for your text. I am a healthy
subject."

"Do you not think it wrong to affirm and reaffirm what is substantially
untrue?"

"I say I am well. I have neither cough, pain, nor fever."

"Is there no equivocation in that assertion? Is it the direct truth?"

"The direct truth."

Louis Moore looked at her earnestly.

"I can myself," he said, "trace no indications of actual disease. But
why, then, are you altered?"

"_Am_ I altered?"

"We will try. We will seek a proof."

"How?"

"I ask, in the first place, do you sleep as you used to?"

"I do not; but it is not because I am ill."

"Have you