"It shocks us, Naomi, to hear you talk so flippantly," replied Miss Agatha. "I do not wish to be severe, my dear, but we as girls were never allowed to talk so much, especially to gentlemen. It is not usual. It seems - it seems forward - it does, indeed. Mr. Nicholson yesterday looked quite embarrassed. -you talked to him so long." 'My dear, I never heard that there was any lady," said Miss Sophy gravely, looking down at her soft black dress and examining the shape of the cuff with a contemplative air. "I think not I think not. I never heard of any lady." "But there is a lady," declared Naomi, with a little frivolous laugh,—"a very Naomi's eyes, looking straight at Miss model lady. She wears collars and cuffs Agatha's, laughed suddenly. But her face-beautiful starchy collars and cuffs! She flushed a little. "I think, my dear, that you surprised him," said Miss Sophy mildly. Naomi's eyes still laughed, but her color was still deepening. She was a little anxious to show that she was quite at ease only amused, not irritated. She raised her arms and clasped her hands behind her head and threw back her head against them lazily. "I knew I was surprising him," she said. "I did not mind surprising him I did not mind it in the least." Miss Agatha looked at her gravely for a moment, then, in silence, slowly and disapprovingly lowered her eyes. "I like surprising him,' continued Naomi, speaking lightly, yet with some insistance. "It amuses me. He is so serious! so respectable! Was ever any one so respectable?" The word "respectable" jarred a little on Miss Sophy's sense of fitness. She looked at Naomi uneasily, feeling that a protest was needed, but doubtful how to word it. wears a grey gown, and parts her hair, Miss Agatha laid down her knitting and sat upright stiffly in her easy chair, and looked with a steady glance at the frivolous girl before her. "I disapprove of your conduct, certainly, sometimes, you force us to dis approve," she said, in a quiet and chilling way. "What I try to bear in mind, my dear, is your training, your bringing up. We know that you have labored under "There are the Carus Nicholsons," she disadvantages-living so long in London said vaguely "the Nicholsons are and a circle so different from our own. cousins of the Carus Nicholsons. And Your grandfather's friends are naturally his mother was a Crowther the Admiral artist people-that is natural, indeed inCrowthers. There was no one so much evitable, I suppose. And you have lived looked up to as old Admiral Crowther. there now for so many years. Of course His grave is close to ours-a marble we bear that in mind.' headstone, railed in, almost next to ours. It was pleurisy he died of. Such a fine man! He was prayed for in church two Sundays and the next Sunday every one in black- I remember it so well. And his daughter married Mr. Amos Nicholson. Bankers they are, the Nicholsons." "I remember," said Miss Sophy musingly, with a sigh, "staying in London with your mother once - years ago now, when your dear father was still living; and your mother took me to spend an evening with her people. I remember it well very Aunt Agatha has often heard me speak of it. There was a little party —a very odd party. Some one, I remember, played a violin. There was one very strange-mannered person, I can see him now a person with a beard-he nursed his foot whilst he spoke to me. And he put his arm upon my chair—right across the back; I remember it very well. All their manners were most familiar, most free-not at all what one is accustomed to. And their coats! And their hair! I shall always remember it." Naomi unclasped her hands from behind her head and turned her face towards the window with a quick, impatient movement. It was still with impatience and restlessness that presently she turned again towards her aunts. "You would never understand, would you?" she asked half fiercely, "that I pine for the sight of a velveteen coat again my heart almost aches for it. Oh, don't look at me like that don't! I know all my sentiments are shocking. I know it never mind saying so again." 66 My dear, you are excited!" expostulated Miss Sophy mildly. "No. Only tired of the sight of broadcloth," said Naomi with a little laugh. In the presence of velveteen, life is so beautifully simple. Velveteen thinks one's faults most charming - most original. Broadcloth looks at one's virtues superciliously and finds them - thin. Poor Mr. Nicholson! I wonder how he would look in velveteen with his hair grown long. Would his hair curl, Aunt Sophy, do you think?” But Miss Sophy was glancing nervously at Miss Agatha; Miss Agatha's long thin face expressed silent, dignified displeas ure. "I do not think his hair would curl," said Naomi after a minute, slowly and profoundly. "It's a comfort to think that he is not perfect, that there is something wanting about him. A wonderful comfort!" Again there was a minute's silence. Miss Agatha sighed. "You are speaking very frivolously, Naomi," said she with a patient air. I think you scarcely know how foolishly you speak." 66 sense of duty. Yes, I knew that I disliked him." She crossed the room in an aimless way, looked at a picture of grapes and roses and dewdrops on the wall, and wandered aimlessly back again. She put her hands on the rail of Miss Sophy's chair, and bent forward with an odd little smile, half mischievous, half caressing. "I'm not a very nice niece, am I?" she said sympathetically. "It's horrid for you, isn't it? Never mind! I'm nicer than I seem, Aunt Sophy-inside, you know." you,' "My dear, we are not finding fault with ," said Miss Sophy hastily. "You are treading on my dress, my dear." "I can't be a model person," Naomi explained, with a long-drawn sigh; "and I don't want to be. Your dress? No, I'm not touching it. Rummaging your hair? I didn't mean to. You poor thing! Kiss me, and I'll go away." CHAPTER II. THE back gardens of St. Mary's Villas opened into a grass-grown lane; a pretty little countrified lane with a straggling hedge on one side and a view of fields beyond the hedge. Here, in the spring evenings, Mr. Nicholson would sometimes bring his paper, and walk slowly up and down as he read or reflected. In the spring afternoons and evenings Naomi, too, found the house depressing. She issued forth, book in hand, crossed the little green lane, climbed a padlocked gate, and trespassed with untroubled conscience in the fields on the other side. This sunny April evening Mr. Nicholson was taking his customary stroll. He held his paper in his hands, but his hands behind him; he strolled slowly, his shoulders well back, his head erect, his glance fixed reflectively on the soft blue sky before him, his thoughts intent on business matters, the day's every-day events in town. Suddenly, as he approached the padlocked gate, his glance was attracted earthwards. On the other side of the gate, and close to it, half in the sunshine, half in the shadow of the hawthorn hedge, sat Naomi Price; hatless, jacketless, gloveless, her elbows on the grass, her chin between her hands, an open book on the ground before her. He glanced aside at her; for an instant his grave face wore an expectant look; then he glanced away again, straight before him. She had not turned, and he passed on without address "It's the thought of so much wisdom and solemnity," said Naomi. "It op presses me. One is bound to laugh at Mr. Nicholson - to remind oneself that he's but a mortal. Mr. Nicholson! What a name! But it's like him. One would know without telling that he wore top hats, and black kid gloves on week-days. He turns out his toes from a high moraling her. motive. He never smiles except from a But the vision of a girlish figure in a russet gown and an inelegant attitude had disturbed his sober thoughts of safe investments. He was conscious of a sudden restlessness of mind. He unfolded and folded his paper decisively, and fixed his attention on the paragraph that first caught his eye. The paragraph treated of the evil behavior of one William Baker, charged yesterday with petty larceny; he read the account half through, then forgot that he was reading and let his glance travel again, in an abstracted way, to the blue sky beyond the lane. She must have heard him pass. Yet she had not raised her head, had not looked his way. She had let him pass and he was glad. Certainly, he was very glad. To assure himself of his gladness, he put his paper once more behind him and reflected as he walked on Naomi's unadmirable qualities and imperfect conduct. She flirted -undoubtedly she flirted. Some men found such girls amusing; he, for his part, could not overcome a habit of regarding all women seriously. His mother he had reverenced; all other women whom he had ever known he had been able to treat gravely and deferentially, to think of respectfully; Naomi was different from them all. There was levity in all her ways. Her laughter was too frequent; her glance was too swift, too expressive; she talked in a light, exaggerated strain, pointing her speech with little gestures, smiles, and frowns; with sudden effective changes in her tone, and little dramatic pauses that held your attention in spite of your own desire held it as a woman's talk had scarcely any right to hold it. She had let him pass and had not turned; he was glad that she had not turned. All the way up the lane he was very sure about his gladness. At the end of the lane he hesitated. Should he stroll back now, as his custom was, or should he take his paper and his thoughts further from home this evening? He stood for a moment, his hands behind him, thinking out the question; then, without duly weighing it, turned down the lane again. This time, surely, she must turn her head. If she turned her head she would surely smile. Yesterday her unexpected smile had excited him unduly he would like to prove himself more master of himself to-day. For the last ten minutes Naomi, with her book spread open on the ground, had not read a word. A minute ago she had suddenly become conscious that she was listening, that she was waiting-and waiting with a feeling of eagerness - for footsteps to come down the lane. Suddenly, as she realized it, she had bent lower over her book, turning the leaves hastily in search of a more absorbing page. But the absorbing page in a very few moments had ceased to prove engrossing. Unconsciously she was listening again. Down the lane came the sound of return. ing footsteps, and at the sound her heart beat quicker, in a strange and fluttering way, half fearfully, half happily, wholly unreasonably. She was seized with a desire to flee. She half rose; then, on second thoughts, laughed at her first im. pulse. Who was Mr. Nicholson that she should run away from him? She need not even raise her eyes from her book; she might let him pass again without even showing that she knew that he was near. But to affect unconsciousness was as foolish as to rise and flee. Any acquaintance but Mr. Nicholson she would accost without a thought, without a moment's silly prudery, simply and naturally - and why not Mr. Nicholson ? Was Aunt Agatha succeeding in her many lectures, making her think of men in a silly, vulgar, simpering way, as potential wooers? If Mr. Nicholson did think her over-bold, was that important? It was his thought which was at fault. Why should she bend her behavior to his false opinions? On the whole, she preferred his disapproval. She had always said so - she preferred it greatly. She raised her eyes from her book as he reached the gate, and, turning her head, looked up at him with the sudden smile he found so disconcerting. "Shall I be prosecuted, do you think, for trespassing?" she asked. And he paused at the gate as in duty bound. It was scarcely duty that constrained him to rest one arm on the topmost bar and to draw such a deep breath of satisfaction as he looked down at her. "You have found a very pleasant spot," he replied after a moment. "Yes, I fear that you are trespassing-but that need not trouble you. Generally, however, the gate is locked." "The gate was locked," said Naomi with a comical little air of dramatic solemnity. "I climbed it. I meant to climb another. I meant to climb that other gate over there at the other end. But over there there are cows to-night. Are you afraid of cows, Mr. Nicholson ?" Mr. Nicholson's grey eyes smiled in a grave way at the flippant question which he left unanswered. "Not when they stop feeding," pursued Naomi, "and lift up their heads and their horns and solemnly look at you? Nonor I. But I like to admire their picturesqueness from a distance." Mr. Nicholson was looking away from her over the fields where the cows, with gentle down bent heads, were scattered feeding. A little breeze blew across from the west; all the air was sweet with the scent of hawthorn. "What a perfect evening it is," said he presently, "and how still! It is hard to remember that the town is so near. With our faces this way we are in the country." Naomi had risen and was standing by the gate, looking silently in the direction in which he was looking. Except for the soft twitter of birds, the light rustle of twig and leaf, everything was very still. Perhaps it was the stillness of the evening which cast a spell about her. She felt as sometimes in rare moments she had felt when low music had thrilled her and held her bound. It was only with an effort that she broke the spell and was frivolous again. "Yes we are in the country," she sighed regretfully. "And in London presently the gas will be lit in all the shops." "You are not fond of the country, Miss Naomi ? 66 I hope so. Why should I bore myself and you by quoting criticisms that are customary? Are all your criticisms always customary, Mr. Nicholson ?" Her eyes, as she spoke, looked suddenly into his with a merry gleam of confiding laughter. He was conscious that his heart beat quicker whenever she glanced at him so unexpectedly; he could not meet her glance and be as calm as was consistent. bored to death. Think of it a world perfectly correct, with no by-lanes leading nowhere, and all its human nature starched! He was looking at her gravely, with a contemplative yet half-reluctant glance. Her words held his attention; they might have been words of wisdom of which he could approve, so heedfully he listened. "You find it dull here?" he suggested after a moment's thought. Naomi's eyes, looking frankly into his, laughed merrily again. "It was you, not I, who made that application," said she. "I did not imply that I found the world here perfect.' "But you find it quiet after London?" "Oh, yes, I find it quiet-oppressively quiet very often; Aunt Agatha and Aunt Sophy sit so very still! the very sight of them makes me need to fidget. Aunt Agatha's mental forefinger is always up, saying 'hush to every one. The servants speak so softly, move so softly, do everything so softly, that I feel sometimes as though something loud must happen or I should suffocate and die. Do you know that sort of feeling? Mr. Nicholson smiled in quite a sudden way. "Not at all," he owned. "Now at home," continued Naomi musingly, "nothing ever happens quietly. If Jenny (Jenny is a very jolly little girl. the little girl who does the work) if Jenny is only washing up the breakfast things she likes every one to know all about it. Every one does everything with a sociable, cheerful clatter. I suppose I miss that I suppose I miss London too. I miss London dreadfully! "But what is it exactly that you miss ? " "I scarcely know what. I seem to miss everything. I like the bigness and the freedom. I like the airiness. Yes, I know it sounds strange to you to talk of London's airiness, but here in the country sometimes I feel that I cannot breathe. like everything in London. I like the early mornings. I like the sunsets across the roofs; I don't care a bit for your country sunsets, but a sunset across miles and miles of houses is a very different thing indeed. I like the lovely roar of the Strand when the theatres are coming out. I like the shop-windows-all the windows-and the gaslight-and the look of the river when the lamps are lit along the bridges and the beautiful rumble of cabs and the voices of men behind the omnibuses. I look out from my window "I should prefer it greatly.' here in the mornings and long for chim"And I should hate it. I should be ney-tops. I like chimney.tops so very "I fancy that all my notions, on all subjects, would be, as you say, Miss Naomi, more customary than yours. I am much less sure than you of the virtues of independent thought. I think one generally finds that unusual notions are original only in some twist of wrongness.' "Would you like the world without its twists of wrongness?" much better than hawthorn bushes, Mr. | forced to acknowledge to herself, that in Nicholson." He was never quite sure whether she was in earnest in all the strange things she said, or whether she was laughing at herself, or aiming at amusing him. She spoke with apparent feeling; and when she spoke so, there was a note somewhere in her tone that affected him most strangely, in a way not at all to be explained, and made him a little unsure of himself and of what he might say and do. She was leaning, like him, one arm upon the gate; but although her face was turned towards him, she was looking past him musingly. He glanced away from her at the shadows of the hedge upon the grass, and breathed more freely. Yet after a moment, he glanced back at her again. Near her thus a man might make love to her and scarcely be to blame. To touch her hand, to be looked at with a longer look might become a necessity a passion. He could imagine the danger well - for some men. He had lingered long enough. Raising his arm slowly from the gate, he drew himself into an upright attitude. He glanced in a doubtful way along the lane. But it was a gloomy path; the shadow of the back-garden walls lay right across it. He glanced back again at Naomi who was standing in the sunshine. And at that moment, Naomi looked at him with one of her swift, straight glances, and spoke again. "Let us go for a little walk," she said. Talking of London makes one restless let us go for a little walk and walk it off." It was only for a moment that he hesitated, but the moment was long enough to make Naomi feel the enormity of her suggestion. Even as she had made the suggestion she had known how it would strike him. But there was a sense of triumph, of elation in saying to Mr. Nicholson the thing which she should not say, the thing which seemed at the moment the most unbecoming thing to say and which must most surprise him. A week or two ago he had scarcely disguised his disapproval. Now, when he looked long at her, the disapproval was somewhere in the background of his glance, and his grey eyes met hers with a light neither calm nor critical, a light that set her heart beating fast, deepened the color in her cheeks and made her desire desperately to look away, to be silentand otherwise "silly." She would not yield to the impulse. She resented the truth, which in spite of herself she was Mr. Nicholson's presence she could not be at ease, that she took thought what she should say and what she should do, and that those things which all her life she had said and done simply and spontaneously she said and did now with an effort, after a second's hesitation, half defiantly. He was over the gate in a moment and at her side. Then he stood regarding her as though there was something a little wrong. "You would like a hat?" he sug gested. "A hat?" repeated Naomi with quiet seriousness - "I think there is nothing I should dislike so much. We will keep to the fields then we shall meet no one. Don't you like to feel the breeze blowing your hair about?-I do. That is the one advantage of the country over London one cannot very well walk hatless through the London streets; though, if one strolls through a by-street with Mark, he often takes off his hat absently whilst he is talking to one, and carries it behind him, and forgets all about it, I believe, until it strikes him that every one who passes him stares." "Who is Mark?" asked Mr. Nicholson rather hastily. "Mark Powell. You must have heard of him!" "Oh, yes, very often. It's a thing to move you, a great meeting like that-the great crowd of earnest, rugged, attentive faces and Mark's speaking. I don't think Mark is a great orator; some people think he is because the men listen to him in such a way, but I think the power he has is something more than that more than just the power of oratory something deeper, much. I know how I feel; I always feel that there is something in Mark that is in touch with the better part of me I expect the men feel that too. He does not speak so very fluently, but every word he says rings true. It's his trueness which is his power, I think. When he only looks quietly in his grave way at the crowd before he begins to speak, you feel |