“His wild flowers were so welcome to me,” said Clara.

“He was very modest over them.  And I mention it because boys of his age usually thrust their gifts in our faces fresh as they pluck them, and you were to be treated quite differently.”

“We saw his good fairy’s hand.”

“She resigns her office; but I pray you not to love him too well in return; for he ought to be away reading with one of those men who get boys through their examinations.  He is, we all think, a born sailor, and his place is in the navy.”

“But, Miss Dale, I love him so well that I shall consult his interests and not my own selfishness.  And, if I have influence, he will not be a week with you longer.  It should have been spoke of to-day; I must have been in some dream; I thought of it, I know.  I will not forget to do what may be in my power.”

Clara’s heart sank at the renewed engagement and plighting of herself involved in her asking a favour, urging any sort of petition.  The cause was good.  Besides, she was plighted already.

“Sir Willoughby is really fond of the boy,” she said.

“He is fond of exciting fondness in the boy,” said Miss Dale.  “He has not dealt much with children.  I am sure he likes Crossjay; he could not otherwise be so forbearing; it is wonderful what he endures and laughs at.”

Sir Willoughby entered.  The presence of Miss Dale illuminated him as the burning taper lights up consecrated plate.  Deeply respecting her for her constancy, esteeming her for a model of taste, he was never in her society without that happy consciousness of shining which calls forth the treasures of the man; and these it is no exaggeration to term unbounded, when all that comes from him is taken for gold.

The effect of the evening on Clara was to render her distrustful of her later antagonism.  She had unknowingly passed into the spirit of Miss Dale, Sir Willoughby aiding; for she could sympathize with the view of his constant admirer on seeing him so cordially and smoothly gay; as one may say, domestically witty, the most agreeable form of wit.  Mrs Mountstuart Jenkinson discerned that he had a leg of physical perfection; Miss Dale distinguished it in him in the vital essence; and before either of these ladies he was not simply a radiant, he was a productive creature, so true it is that praise is our fructifying sun.  He had even a touch of the romantic air which Clara remembered as her first impression of the favourite of the county; and strange she found it to observe this resuscitated idea confronting her experience.  What if she had been captious, inconsiderate?  Oh, blissful revival of the sense of peace!  The happiness of pain departing was all that she looked for, and her conception of liberty was to learn to love her chains, provided that he would spare her the caress.  In this mood she sternly condemned Constantia.  “We must try to do good; we must not be thinking of ourselves; we must make the