“I!  Oh, it is a fine thing to be a long-eared little pitcher when one’s elders imagine one hears nothing but what is addressed to oneself.  There I sat, supposed to be at my lessons, when the English letters came in, and I heard papa communicating to mamma how he had a letter from old Lord Keith—­not this one but one older still—­the father of him—­about his son’s exchange—­wanted papa to know that he was exemplary and all that, and hoped he would be kind to him, but just insinuated that leave was not desirable—­in fact it was to break off an affair at home.  And then, while I was all on fire to see what a lover looked like, comes another letter, this time to mamma, from Lady Alison something, who could not help recommending to her kindness her dear nephew Colin, going out broken-hearted at what was feared would prove a fatal accident, to the dearest, noblest girl in the world, for so she must call Ermine Williams.  Ermine was a name to stick in one’s memory if Williams was not, and so I assumed sufficient certainty to draw it all out of dear Lady Temple.”

“She knows then?” said Rachel, breathlessly, but on her guard.

“Know?  Yes, or she could hardly make such a brother of the Colonel.  In fact, I think it is a bit of treachery to us all to keep such an affair concealed, don’t you?” with a vivid flash out of the corner of her eyes.

“Treachery not to post up a list of all one’s—­”

“One’s conquests?” said Bessie, snatching the word out of her brother’s mouth.  “Did you ever hear a more ingenious intimation of the number one has to boast?”

“Only in character,” calmly returned Alick.

“But do not laugh,” said Rachel, who had by this time collected herself; “if this is so, it must be far too sad and melancholy to be laughed about.”

“So it is,” said Alick, with a tone of feeling.  “It has been a mournful business from the first, and I do not see how it is to end.”

“Why, I suppose Colonel Colin is his own master now,” said Bessie; “and if he has no objection I do not see who else can make any.”

“There are people in the world who are what Tennyson calls ‘selfless,’” returned Alick.

“Then the objection comes from her?” said Rachel, anxiously.

“So saith Lady Temple,” returned Bessie.

They were by this time in Mackarel Lane.  Rachel would have given much to have been able to turn back and look this strange news in the face, but consciousness and fear of the construction that might be put on her change of purpose forced her on, and in a few moments the three were in the little parlour, where Ermine’s station was now by the fire.  There could be no doubt, as Rachel owned to herself instantly, that there was a change since she first had studied that face.  The bright colouring, and far more, the active intellect and lively spirit, had always obviated any expression of pining or invalidism; but to the air of cheerfulness was added a look of freshened