A Red Wallflower. Warner Susan

morning, surely; and I want you myself. I think I have a better claim.'

      'You have had me a good while already, and shall have me again,' said Pitt, laughing. 'I am just going to steal a little bit of the evening, mother. Be generous!'

      And he opened the hall door and was off, and the door closed behind him. Mrs. Dallas went back to the supper room with a very discomfited face.

      'Hildebrand,' she said, in a tone that made her husband look up, 'there is no help for it! We shall have to send him to England.'

      'What now?'

      'Just what I told you. He's off to see that child. Off like the North wind! – and no more to be held.'

      'That's nothing new. He never could be held. Pity we didn't name him

      Boreas.'

      'But do you see what he is doing?'

      'No.'

      'He is off to see that child.'

      'That child to-day, and another to-morrow. He's a boy yet.'

      'Hildebrand, I tell you there is danger.'

      'Danger of what?'

      'Of what you would not like.'

      'My dear, young men do not fall dangerously in love with children. And that little girl is a child yet.'

      'You forget how soon she will be not a child. And she is going to be a very remarkable-looking girl, I can tell you. And you must not forget another thing, husband; that Pitt is as persistent as he is wilful.'

      'He's got a head, I think,' said Mr. Dallas, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully.

      'That won't save him. It never saved anybody. Men with heads are just as much fools, in certain circumstances, as men without them.'

      'He might fancy some other child in England, if we sent him there, you know.'

      'Yes; but at least she would be a Churchwoman,' said Mrs. Dallas, with her handsome face all cloudy and disturbed.

      Meanwhile her son had rushed along the village street, or road rather, through the cold and darkness, the quarter of a mile to Colonel Gainsborough's house. There he was told that the colonel had a bad headache and was already gone to his room.

      'Is Miss Esther up?'

      'Oh yes, sir,' said Mrs. Barker doubtfully, but she did not invite the visitor in.

      'Can I see her for a moment?'

      'I haven't no orders, but I suppose you can come in, Mr. Dallas. It is

      Mr. Dallas, ain't it?'

      'Yes, it's I, Mrs. Barker,' said Pitt, coming in and beginning at once to throw off his greatcoat. 'In the usual room? Is the colonel less well than common?'

      'Well, no, sir, not to call less well, as I knows on. It's the time o' year, sir, I make bold to imagine. He has a headache bad, that he has, and he's gone off to bed; but Miss Esther's well – so as she can be.'

      Pitt got out of his greatcoat and gloves, and waited for no more. He had a certain vague expectation of the delight his appearance would give, and was a little eager to see it. So he went in with a bright face to surprise Esther.

      The girl was sitting by the table reading a book she had laid close under the lamp; reading with a very grave face, Pitt saw too, and it a little sobered the brightness of his own. It was not the dulness of stagnation or of sorrow this time; at least Esther was certainly busily reading; but it was sober, steady business, not the absorption of happy interest or excitement. She looked up carelessly as the door opened, then half incredulously as she saw the entering figure, then she shut her book and rose to meet him. But then she did not show the lively pleasure he had expected; her face flushed a little, she hardly smiled, she met him as if he were more or less a stranger, – with much more dignity and less eagerness than he was accustomed to from her. Pitt was astonished, and piqued, and curious. However, he followed her lead, in a measure.

      'How do you do, Queen Esther?' he said, holding out his hand.

      'How do you do, Pitt?' she answered, taking it; but with the oddest mingling of reserve and doubt in her manner; and the great grave eyes were lifted to his face for a moment, with, it seemed to him, something of inquiry or questioning in them.

      'Are you not glad to see me?'

      'Yes,' she said, with another glance.

      'Then why are you not glad to see me?' he asked impetuously.

      'I am glad to see you, of course,' she said. 'Won't you sit down?'

      'This won't do, you know,' said the young man, half-vexed and half-laughing, but wholly determined not to be kept at a distance in this manner. 'I am not going to sit down, if you are going to treat me like that.'

      'Treat you how?'

      'Why, as if I were a stranger, that you didn't care a pin about. What's the matter, Queen Esther?'

      Esther was silent. Pitt was half-indignant; and then he caught the shimmer of something like moisture in the eyes, which were looking away from him to the fire, and his mood changed.

      'What is it, Esther?' he said kindly. 'Take a seat, your majesty, and

      I'll do the same. I see there is some talking to be done here.'

      He took the girl's hand and put her in her chair, and himself drew up another near. 'Now what's the matter, Esther? Have you forgotten me?'

      'No,' she said. 'But I thought – perhaps – you had forgotten me.'

      'What made you think that?'

      'You were gone away,' she said, hesitating; 'you were busy; papa said' —

      'What did he say?'

      'He said, probably I would never see you much more.'

      But here the tears came to view undeniably; welled up, and filled the eyes, and rolled over. Esther brushed them hastily away.

      'And I hadn't the decency to write to you? Had that something to do with it?'

      'I thought – if you had remembered me, you would perhaps have written, just a little word,' Esther confessed, with some hesitation and difficulty. Pitt was more touched and sorry than he would have supposed before that such a matter could make him.

      'Look here, Esther,' he said. 'There are two or three things I want you to take note of. The first is, that you must never judge by appearances.'

      'Why not?' asked Esther, considering him and this statement together.

      'Because they are deceptive. They mislead.'

      'Do they?'

      'Very frequently.'

      'What is one to judge by, then?'

      'Depends. In this case, by your knowledge of the person concerned.'

      Esther looked at him, and a warmer shine came into her eye.

      'Yes,' she said, 'I thought it was not like you to forget. But then, papa said I would not be likely to see much more of you – ever' – (Esther got the words out with some difficulty, without, however, breaking down) – 'and I thought, I had to get accustomed to doing without you – and I had better do it.'

      'Why should you not see much more of me?' Pitt demanded energetically.

      'You would be going away.'

      'And coming back again!'

      'But going to England, perhaps.'

      'Who said that?'

      'I don't know. I think Mrs. Dallas told papa.'

      'Well, now look here, Queen Esther,' Pitt said, more moderately: 'I told you, in the first place, you are not to judge by appearances. Do you see that you have been mistaken in judging me?'

      She looked at him, a look that moved him a good deal, there was so much wistfulness in it; so much desire revealed to find him what she had found him in times past, along with the dawning hope that she might.

      'Yes,' said he, nodding,