On Sunday mornings it was Pigott’s habit to relax the Draconian severity of her laws in the matter of breakfast, which, generally speaking, was not till about half-past eight o’clock.  At that hour precisely, on the Sabbath in question, she appeared as usual—­no, not as usual, for, it being Sunday, she had on her stiff, black gown—­and, with all due solemnity, made the tea.

A few minutes elapsed, and Angela entered, dressed in white, and very lovely in her simple, tight-fitting robe, but a trifle pale, and with a shy look upon her face.

She greeted her nurse with a kiss.

“Why, what is the matter with you, dearie?” ejaculated Pigott, whose watchful eye detected a change she could not define; “you look different somehow.”

“Hush!  I will tell you by-and-by.”

At that moment Arthur’s quick step was heard advancing down the passage, together with a pattering noise that announced the presence of Aleck.  And, as they came, Angela, poor Angela, grew red and redder, and yet more painfully red, till Pigott, watching her face, was enabled to form a shrewd guess as to what was the cause of her unaccustomed looks.

On came the steps, and open flew the door, more and more ready to sink into the earth looked Angela, and so interested grew nurse Pigott, that she actually poured some hot tea on to her dress, a thing she could never remember having done before.

The first to enter was Aleck, who, following his custom, sprang upon Angela and licked her hand, and behind Aleck, looking somewhat confused, but handsome and happy—­for his was one of those faces that become handsome when their owners are happy—­came Aleck’s master.  And then there ensued an infinitesimal but most awkward pause.

On such occasions as the present, namely, the first meeting after an engagement, there is always—­especially when it occurs in the presence of a third person—­a very considerable difficulty in the minds of the parties to know what demeanour they are to adopt towards one another.  Are they to treat the little affair of the previous evening as a kind of confidential communication, not to be alluded to except in private conversation, and to drop into the Mr. and Miss of yesterday?  That would certainly be the easiest, but then it would also be a decided act of mutual retreat.  Or are they to rush into each other’s arms as becomes betrothed lovers?  This process is so new that they feel that it still requires private rehearsal.  And, meanwhile, time presses, and everybody is beginning to stare, and something must be done.

These were very much the feelings of Arthur and Angela.  He hesitated before her, confused, and she kept her head down over the dog.  But presently Aleck, getting bored, moved on, and, as it would have been inane to continue to stare at the floor, she had to raise herself as slowly as she might.  Soon their eyes arrived in the same plane, and whether a mutual glance of intelligence was exchanged, or whether their power of attraction overcame his power of resistance, it is not easy to determine, but certain it is that, following a primary natural law, Arthur gravitated towards her, and kissed her on the face.