relaxed his muscles was in the main amiable; it never repelled as does the conceit of a fop or a weakling or a vulgar person; he could laugh heartily, even with his own affectations for a source of amusement.  Of personal vanity he had little, though women esteemed him good-looking; his steady, indolent gaze made denial of such preoccupation.  Nor could he be regarded as emasculate; his movements merely disguised the natural vigour of a manly frame, and his conversational trifling hinted an intellectual reserve, a latent power of mind, obvious enough in the lines of his countenance.

Nancy was excusable for supposing that he viewed her slightingly.  He spoke as one who did not expect to be quite understood by such a hearer, addressing her, without the familiarity, much as he addressed his young cousins.  To her, his careful observance of formalities seemed the reverse of flattering; she felt sure that with young women in his own circle he would allow himself much more freedom.  Whether the disparagement applied to her intellect or to her social status might be a question; Nancy could not decide which of the two she would prefer.  Today an especial uneasiness troubled her from the first moment of his appearance; she felt a stronger prompting than hitherto to assert herself, and, if possible, to surprise Mr. Tarrant.  But, as if he understood her thought, his manner became only more bland, his calm aloofness more pronounced.

The children, who were never at ease in their cousin’s presence, succeeded in drawing Jessica apart, and chattered to her about the educational methods imposed by Mrs. Baker, airing many grievances.  They nourished a hope that Miss.  Morgan might again become their governess; lessons down at Teignmouth had been nothing like so oppressive as here at Champion Hill.

Tarrant, meanwhile, having drunk a cup of tea, and touched his moustache with a silk handkerchief, transferred himself from the camp-stool to the basket chair vacated by Jessica.  He was now further from Nancy, but facing her.

‘I have been talking with Mrs. Bellamy,’ fell from him, in the same tone of idle good nature.  ’Do you know her?  She has but one subject of conversation; an engrossing topic, to be sure; namely, her servants.  Do you give much thought to the great servant question?  I have my own modest view of the matter.  It may not be novel, but my mind has worked upon it in the night watches.’

Nancy, resolved not to smile, found herself smiling.  Not so much at what he said, as at the manner of it.  Her resentment was falling away; she felt the influence of this imperturbable geniality.

‘Shall I tell you my theory?’

He talked with less reserve than on the last occasion when they had sat together.  The mellow sunlight, the garden odours, the warm, still air, favoured a growth of intimacy.

‘By all means,’ was Nancy’s reply.