“She!  Who? —­ Clam?”

“No, not Clam.”

“Who then?”

“Why —­ Miss Haye.”

“Was she here?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.  She staid a good while with me.”

“It was kind of her,” said Winthrop after a little pause.

There was a pause then of some length.

“Has Miss Haye’s being here and talking to you, tired you, Winnie?” said her brother, the arm that was round her drawing her more near.

“No —­” Winnie said; but by no means as if Miss Haye’s visit had had a sprightly effect.

“Staid here a good while talking?  What did she talk about?”

“O —­ I don’t know, —­” said Winnie, —­ “about my drinking wine, and going to ride with her.”

“She is very kind.  And what did you tell her?”

“I said I didn’t know whether you would let me drink it.  I said I would go to ride.”

“I am very much obliged to Miss Haye, and very glad for you, Winnie.  It will do you good.”

“Would you let me drink wine, if she should send it to me?”

“Did she speak of doing that?”

“Yes.”

There was a little silence.

“Would you let me take it, Winthrop?”

“I suppose I should.”

“I hope she won’t send it,” said Winnie; “and I wish I wasn’t going to ride, either.”

“Why?”

“O —­ I’d rather stay here.”

They sat a little while without speaking another word; and then Winthrop withdrawing his arm proposed to have ’some light on the subject.’  Winifred sprang to get it, but he held her back, and himself got the candle and lit it and placed it on the table.  The light shewed Winnie’s face flushed and unresting, and of doubtful signification about the eyes.  Winthrop came and took his former place and position by her side.

“How has the day been with you, Winnie?”

The tone was most gentle and kindly.  Winnie hesitated and then said,

“It hasn’t been good.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I haven’t been good.”

“That isn’t such a new thing that you need be surprised at it, —­ is it?” he said gently.

“No” —­ under breath.

“And it isn’t so strange a thing that I love you a bit the less for it.”

“But it’s very uncomfortable,” said poor Winnie, whose voice bore her witness.

“I find it so often.”

“You, Governor! —­ you never do!” said Winnie energetically.

“Never do what?”

“Never feel like me.”

“No, Winnie —­ I am strong and you are weak —­ you are sick and I am well.  I have no excuse —­ you have, a little.”

“It don’t make it a bit better,” said poor Winnie.  “I don’t want to make any excuse.  I got so cross with Mrs. Nettley to-day.”

“What about?”

“O I couldn’t bear to hear her talk, and I almost told her so.”