John stole an enquiring glance, to see if his wife was very anxious to join the party—­cast one look of regret on a beautiful agate that he had selected, and inquired—­

“Do you wish to go very much, Mrs. Mosely?”

“Indeed—­indeed I do,” said the other, eagerly, “if—­”

“If what?”

“You will drive me?” continued she, with a cheek slightly tinged with color.

“Well, then,” answered John, with deliberation, and regarding his wife with affection “I will go on one condition.”

“Name it!” cried Grace, with still increasing color.

“That you will not expose your health again in going to the church on a Sunday, if it rains.”

“The carriage is so close, Mosely,” answered Grace, with a paler cheek than beforehand eyes fixed on the carpet, “it is impossible I can take cold:  you see the earl, and countess, and aunt Wilson never miss public worship, when possibly within their power.”

“The earl goes with his wife; but what becomes of poor me at such times!” said John, taking her hand and pressing it kindly.  “I like; to hear a good sermon, but not in bad weather.  You must consent to oblige me, who only live in your presence.”

Grace smiled faintly, as John, pursuing the point, said—­“What do you say to my condition?”

“Well then, if you wish,” replied Graces without the look of gaiety her hopes had first inspired, “I will not go if it rain.”

John ordered his phaeton, and his wife went to her room to prepare for the trip, and to regret her own resolution.

In, the recess of a window, in which bloomed a profusion of exotics, stood the figure of Lady Marian Denbigh, playing with a half-blown rose of the richest colors; and before her, leaning against the angle of the wall, stood her kinsman the Duke of Derwent.

“You heard the plan at the breakfast table,” said his Grace, “to visit the little falls in the hills.  But I suppose you have seen them too often to undergo the fatigue?”

“Oh no!  I love that ride dearly, and should wish to accompany the countess in her first visit to it.  I had half a mind to ask George to take me in his phaeton.”

“My curricle would be honored with the presence of Lady Marian Denbigh,” cried the duke with animation, “if, she would accept me for her knight on the occasion.”

Marian bowed an assent, in evident satisfaction, as the duke proceeded—­

“But if you take me as your knight I should wear your ladyship’s colors;” and he held out his hand towards the budding rose.  Lady Marian hesitated a moment—­looked out at the prospeet—­up at the wall—­turned, and wondered where her brother was; and still finding the hand of the duke extended, while his eye rested on her in admiration, she gave him the boon with a cheek that vied with the richest tints of the flower.  They separated to prepare, and it was on their return from the falls that the duke seemed uncommonly gay and amusing, and the lady silent with her tongue, though her eyes danced in every direction but towards her cousin.