being occupied with doors, two of which have
been already mentioned, another at the foot of
the narrow winding stairs which led straight into
Mr. Wilkins's bedroom over the dining-room,
and the fourth opening into a path through the
shrubbery to the right of the flower-garden as
you looked from the house. This path led through
the stable-yard, and then by a short cut right
into Hamley, and brought you out close to Mr.
Wilkins's office; it was by this way he always
went and returned to his business. He used the
study for a smoking and lounging-room principally,
although he always spoke of it as a convenient
place for holding confidential communications
with such of his clients as did not like
discussing their business within the possible
hearing of all the clerks in his office. By the
outer door he could also pass to the stables, and
see that all proper care was taken at all times of
his favourite and valuable horses. Into this
study Ellinor would follow him of a morning,
helping him on with his great-coat, mending his
gloves, talking an infinite deal of merry fond
nothing, and then, clinging to his arm, she would
accompany him in his visits to the stables, going
up to the shyest horses, and petting them, and
patting them, and feeding them with bread all
the time that her father held converse with
Dixon. When he was finally gone—and sometimes
it was a long time first—she returned to
the schoolroom to Miss Monro, and tried to set
herself hard at work at her lessons. But she had
not much time for steady application; if her
father had cared for her progress in anything,
she would and could have worked hard at that
study or accomplishment; but Mr. Wilkins, the
ease and pleasure-loving man, did not wish to
make himself into the pedagogue, as he would
have considered it, if he had ever questioned
Ellinor with a real steady purpose of ascertaining
her intellectual progress. It was quite enough
for him that her general intelligence and variety
of desultory and miscellaneous reading made her
a pleasant and agreeable companion for his hours
of relaxation.

At twelve o'clock, Ellinor put away her books
with joyful eagerness, kissed Miss Monro, asked
her if they should go a regular walk, and was
always rather thankful when it was decided that
it would be better to stroll in the garden—a decision
very often come to, for Miss Monro hated
fatigue, hated dirt, hated scrambling, and
dreaded rain; all of which are evils, the chances
of which are never far distant from country
walks. So Ellinor danced out into the garden,
worked away among her flowers, played at the
old games among the roots of the trees, and,
when she could, seduce Dixon in the flower-garden
to have a little consultation as to the horses
and dogs. For it was one of her father's few
strict rules that Ellinor was never to go into the
stable-yard unless he were with her; so these
tête-à-têtes with Dixon were always held in the
flower-garden, or bit of forest ground surrounding
it. Miss Monro sat and basked in the sun,
close to the dial, which made the centre of the
gay flower-beds, upon which the dining-room and
study windows looked.

At one o'clock, Ellinor and Miss Monro dined.
An hour was allowed for Miss Monro's digestion,
which Ellinor again spent out of doors, and
at three lessons began again and lasted till five.
At that time they went to dress preparatory for
the schoolroom tea at half-past five. After tea
Ellinor tried to prepare her lessons for the next
day; but all the time she was listening for her
father's footstep—the moment she heard that,
she dashed down her book, and flew out of the
room to welcome and kiss him. Seven was his
dinner-hour; he hardly ever dined alone; indeed,
he often dined from home four days out of seven,
and when he had no engagement to take him out
he liked to have some one to keep him company.
Mr. Ness very often, Mr. Corbet along with him
if he was in Hamley, a stranger friend, or one of
his clients. Sometimes, reluctantly, and when
he fancied he could not avoid the attention without
giving offence, Mr. Wilkins would ask Mr.
Dunster, and then the two would always follow
Ellinor into the library at a very early hour, as
if their subjects for tête-à-tête conversation were
quite exhausted. With all his other visitors,
Mr. Wilkins sat long—yes, and yearly longer;
with Mr. Ness, because they became interested in
each other's conversation; with some of the
others, because the wine was good, and the host
hated to spare it.

Mr. Corbet used to leave his tutor and Mr.
Wilkins and saunter into the library. There sat
Ellinor and Miss Monro, each busy with their
embroidery. He would bring a stool to Eilinor's
side, question and tease her, interest her, and
they would become entirely absorbed in each
other, Miss Monro's sense of propriety being
entirely set at rest by the consideration that Mr.
Wilkins must know what he was about in allowing
a young man to become thus intimate with
his daughter, who, after all, was but a child.

Mr. Corbet had lately fallen into the habit of
walking up to Ford Bank for the Times every
day, about twelve o'clock, and lounging about in
the garden until one; not exactly with either
Ellinor or Miss Monro, but certainly far more at
the beck and call of the one than of the other.

Miss Monro used to think he would have been
glad to stay and lunch at their early dinner, but
she never gave the invitation, and he could not
well stay without her expressed sanction. He
told Ellinor all about his mother and sisters, and
their ways of going on, and spoke of them and of
his father as of people she was one day certain to
know, and to know intimately; and she did not
question or doubt this view of things; she simply
acquiesced.

He had some discussion with himself as to
whether he should speak to her, and so secure
her promise to be his before returning to Cambridge
or not. He did not like the formality of
an application to Mr. Wilkins, which would,
after all, have been the proper and straight-