LITMIR.BIZ

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about him; for a girl’s hero has always six feet of stature at the least. And he was perfectly well dressed in well-fitting evening clothes, which, though so generally objected to in matter of form, are yet, with their large foreground of dazzling linen and background of blackness, almost always becoming to men. All these things Janet remarked in a glance; but as for her first question, was he worth it? she had not yet come to any decision at all.

      Gussy made no movement to present the stranger to the governess. She gave him a chair so near herself that Janet was obliged to draw back a little more to get herself out of the way. It was the first time that she had found herself de trop in the little circle. She was not, however, at all wounded by this, being very curious and much excited by the little drama which thus seemed to come to light under her eyes. It must have been existing for some time, Janet thought. They must have reached at least the end of the second, if not the third, act, and with quite a flush of interest she settled herself to watch its progress. Was she de trop? Would they rather she went away? Was Julia’s disappearance a signal for her—a hint that she was not wanted. These ideas passed through Janet’s head, but without disturbing her. She wanted above all things to follow this story out.

      “I have only just got back to town,” said Mr. Meredith. “I have had a longer holiday than usual this year.”

      “So we suppose, or I made sure we should have seen you,” said Gussy, with undisguised pleasure in her face.

      “That seems like making a claim of right upon Charley’s time,” said Mrs. Harwood; “we must not do that, for it is the last thing that young men like.”

      “I think Gussy understands me best,” he said, “so far as that goes. Of course I should have come in any case the first evening I had.”

      Janet said to herself that they must at least have begun the third act, as they called each other by their Christian names.

      “You say in any case?” said Gussy, with an inquiring look.

      “Yes; fancy what was the first thing I heard to-day. I went into Mimpriss’s on my way to the Temple to get some pencils, and there was some one inquiring for books for Mrs. Harwood: so I knew that you also had reached home.”

      “Oh, yes, we have been at home a long time!” said Gussy. “Mamma never likes to be long away: and Ju—you know Ju—was going down hill like an express train, getting more and more unmanageable and refractory every day.”

      “But I am happy to tell you, Charley, that Miss Summerhayes seems likely to work marvels.”

      This was the only thing that approached an introduction, and Janet did not know whether to take any notice. Mr. Meredith, however, jumped to his feet, and made her a bow.

      “It was Miss Summerhayes I saw changing the books,” he said.

      Gussy made no remark. She was not in the least disturbed by this greeting. Janet had not even the satisfaction of thinking that Miss Harwood did not wish her to seek the visitor’s acquaintance. She ignored her altogether, as if she was of absolutely no importance—which was much harder to bear, and a great surprise to the governess, who had hitherto been treated with so much regard.

      “Mamma cannot do without her books,” she said, calmly. “As for me, I have not heard a note of music since you have been away.”

      “We must take order about that,” he said. “I brought something with me to-night, a new thing by—what’s his name—one of the men you like. The soprano part is very nice. We can try it over to-night.”

      “And how did you leave your Aunt Owen, Charley, and what are they doing down in that part of the country? Dear me, what changes I should find, to be sure, if I were to go down there again. All the Plinlimmons swept away, and my friends at the Grange, and Agatha Lloyd, and——”

      “Don’t think of it, mamma,” said Gussy, humming over the air with the music in her hand, and interrupting herself to run in a few words between the bars. “Think of your own people, and how well we all are—tum—tum—ti-tum—tum—and don’t let us distress ourselves about strangers, tu-tu—tu-tu—tum-tum. Yes, I think I shall like this.”

      “Your friends at the Grange have not been swept away, Mrs. Harwood. They are in perfectly good case, and made the most tender inquiries for you. I came home full of Welsh news for you; but it blows away after a day in chambers. Ask me as many questions as you please, and it will all come back.”

      “Oh, never mind!” said Gussy, with an impatience quite unusual to her. “Tell us rather what you have been doing yourself. Have you had any sport? Have you met any nice people while you have been away? Have you been singing a great deal, or met anybody whose voice goes with yours?”

      “Not one like you,” he said, with a glance that made Gussy’s color rise. He added, after a moment, “There were some ladies at the Lloyds’ who were very good musicians. We had a little practice now and then.

      “Young ladies?” asked Gussy.

      “Well—yes, some of them were young. One was a capital accompanist, and her sister’s voice was something quite remarkable. We managed that duet, don’t you know, that we never could master, of Brahm’s.”

      “Oh!” said Gussy. The color went slowly out of her face, leaving her very pale and gray. “You must have enjoyed yourself very much,” she said, in a subdued tone.

      “Not so much as I do—here,” he said, lowering his voice and bending towards her: and Janet, ever watching, saw Gussy’s face take fire again and glow with a tender flush. Was the man worth it? He seemed to play upon her like an instrument, blowing her upwards one moment, the next bringing her down to the ground.

      All this time not the least notice had been taken of the governess, who went on with her sewing with a little thrill of observation and attention in her which ran to her very finger points. Even these finger points seemed to be roused into seeing and hearing, reading meanings, and judging looks. Janet felt as if she were sitting apart at the rehearsal of a play. In this end of the room where the personages of the drama were sitting everything was light and brightness; but the other was like an unoccupied auditorium, the lights low, and the space vacant, though quite in the depths of the scene there was an open piano with a gleam of white keys showing out of the dimness. Had Gussy left the piano open on purpose? She had been in the habit of scolding Julia for that injurious habit, but Janet now remembered that it had been left open for several nights. And where was Julia? and was it perhaps, understood that she should vanish with her pupil? All these things perplexed and disturbed Janet, who did not know what was meant.

      Presently the scene changed, the dim background lighted up, and there were two people between her and the gleaming white keyboard of the piano. The episode grew more exciting than ever, for the two—lovers? surely they must be lovers—were going to sing together. Janet’s attention, however, was distracted for a moment or two by the same little stifled sound which she had heard before, and looking up she saw Julia glide from behind the curtains and come back to her place on the rug.

      “Julia,” cried Mrs. Harwood, “you will end by making me frightened. What do you mean by that elfish way of stealing out and in? Can’t you have a little respect for your sister? It is not so often that she sings.”

      Julia fixed upon her mother her usual dogged look, lifting her head from her book, then, to Janet’s supreme surprise, vouchsafed an answer.

      “She’s so silly,” the girl said, with a glance of scorn.

      “Do you hear, Miss Summerhayes?” said the old lady. “She is incorrigible. I thought we had come to an end of all that, Ju?”

      Julia gave her mother another look, then returned to her book, with again a faint hiss from between her closed teeth.

      “She is so much interested in her book,” Janet made haste to say. “When one gets into the heart of a story at her age one thinks of nothing else.”

      “Do you think,

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