‘Speak for yourself, Mr. Gilbert,’ laughed Genevieve.

’And he writes letters every day, and wont let any of us put them into the post for him; but we know the direction begins with Miss—­’

‘Oh! the curious boys!’ cried Genevieve.  ’If I could only hint to this poor tutor to let them read Miss Downton on one!’

‘I assure you,’ cried Gilbert, ’Price has laid a bet that she’s an heiress with forty thousand pounds and red hair.’

’Mr. Price is an impertinent!  I hope you will inform me how he looks when he is the loser.’

’But he has seen her!  He met Mr. Downton last Christmas in Regent Street, in a swell carriage, with a lady with such carrots, he thought her bonnet was on fire; and Mr. Downton never saw Price, though he bowed to him, and you know nobody would marry a woman with red hair unless she was an heiress.’

‘Miss Sophy,’ whispered Genevieve, ’prepare for a red-haired sister-in-law.  I predict that every one of the pupils of the respectable Mr. Downton will marry ladies with lively chestnut locks.’

‘What, you think me so mercenary, Genevieve?’ said Gilbert.

‘I only hope to see this school-boy logic well revenged!’ said Genevieve.  ’Mrs. Price shall have locks of orange red, and for Mrs. Gilbert Kendal—­ah! we will content ourselves with her having a paler shade—­sandy gold.’

‘No,’ said Gilbert, speaking slowly, turning round his eyes.  ’I could tell you what Mrs. G. Kendal’s hair will be—­’

Genevieve let this drop, and said, ’You do not want me:  good-bye, Miss Sophie.’

‘Going! why, you came to read to me, Genevieve,’ exclaimed Sophy.

‘Ah!  I beg your pardon, I have been interrupting you all this time,’ cried Gilbert; ‘I never meant to disturb you.  Pray let me listen.’

And Genevieve read while Gilbert resumed his reclining attitude, with half-closed eyes, listening to the sweet intonations and pretty refined accent of the ancien regime.

Sophy enjoyed this exceedingly, she made it her especial occupation to take care of Gilbert, and enter into his fireside amusements.  This indisposition had drawn the two nearer together, and essentially unlike as they were, their two characters seemed to be fitting well one into the other.  His sentiment accorded with her strain of romance, and they read poetry and had discussions as they sat over the fire, growing constantly into greater intimacy and confidence.  Sophy waited on him, and watched him perpetually, and her assiduity was imparting a softness and warmth quite new to her, while the constant occupation kept affronts and vexations out of her sight, and made her amiable.