”ThebestflowerIcanshowyou，”hesaid，withasortoftriumph，”ismylittlesweet。She’llbebackfromChurchdirectly。There’ssomethingaboutherwhichremindsmealittleofyou，”anditdidnotseemtohimpeculiarthathehadputitthus，insteadofsaying：”There’ssomethingaboutyouwhichremindsmealittleofher。”Ah！Andhereshewas！Holly，followedcloselybyherelderlyFrenchgoverness，whosedigestionhadbeenruinedtwenty-twoyearsagointhesiegeofStrasbourg，camerushingtowardsthemfromundertheoaktree。Shestoppedaboutadozenyardsaway，topatBalthasarandpretendthatthiswasallshehadinhermind。OldJolyonwhoknewbetter，said：”Well，mydarling，here’stheladyingreyIpromisedyou。”
　　Hollyraisedherselfandlookedup。Hewatchedthetwoofthemwithatwinkle，Irenesmiling，Hollybeginningwithgraveinquiry，passingintoashysmiletoo，andthentosomethingdeeper。Shehadasenseofbeauty，thatchild——knewwhatwaswhat！Heenjoyedthesightofthekissbetweenthem。”Mrs。Heron，Mam’zelleBeauce。Well，Mam’zelle——goodsermon?”
　　For，nowthathehadnotmuchmoretimebeforehim，theonlypartoftheserviceconnectedwiththisworldabsorbedwhatinterestinchurchremainedtohim。Mam’zelleBeaucestretchedoutaspideryhandcladinablackkidglove——shehadbeeninthebestfamilies——
　　andtherathersadeyesofherleanyellowishfaceseemedtoask：”Areyouwell-brrred?”WheneverHollyorJollydidanythingunpleasingtoher——anotuncommonoccurrencehewouldsaytothem：”ThelittleTayleursneverdidthat——theyweresuchwell-brrredlittlechildren。”JollyhatedthelittleTayleurs；Hollywondereddreadfullyhowitwasshefellsoshortofthem。’Athinrumlittlesoul，’oldJolyonthoughther——Mam’zelleBeauce。
　　Luncheonwasasuccessfulmeal，themushroomswhichhehimselfhadpickedinthemushroomhouse，hischosenstrawberries，andanotherbottleoftheSteinbergcabinetfilledhimwithacertainaromaticspirituality，andaconvictionthathewouldhaveatouchofeczemato-morrow。
　　AfterlunchtheysatundertheoaktreedrinkingTurkishcoffee。
　　ItwasnomatterofgrieftohimwhenMademoiselleBeaucewithdrewtowriteherSundaylettertohersister，whosefuturehadbeenendangeredinthepastbyswallowingapin——aneventheldupdailyinwarningtothechildrentoeatslowlyanddigestwhattheyhadeaten。Atthefootofthebank，onacarriagerug，HollyandthedogBalthasarteasedandlovedeachother，andintheshadeoldJolyonwithhislegscrossedandhiscigarluxuriouslysavoured，gazedatIrenesittingintheswing。Alight，vaguelyswaying，greyfigurewithafleckofsunlighthereandthereuponit，lipsjustopened，eyesdarkandsoftunderlidsalittledrooped。Shelookedcontent；surelyitdidhergoodtocomeandseehim！Theselfishnessofagehadnotsetitspropergriponhim，forhecouldstillfeelpleasureinthepleasureofothers，realisingthatwhathewanted，thoughmuch，wasnotquiteallthatmattered。”It’squiethere，”hesaid；”youmustn’tcomedownifyoufinditdull。Butit’sapleasuretoseeyou。Mylittlesweet’sistheonlyfacewhichgivesmeanypleasure，exceptyours。”
　　>Fromhersmileheknewthatshewasnotbeyondlikingtobeappreciated，andthisreassuredhim。”That’snothumbug，”hesaid。”InevertoldawomanIadmiredherwhenIdidn’t。InfactI
　　don’tknowwhenI’vetoldawomanIadmiredher，exceptmywifeintheolddays；andwivesarefunny。”Hewassilent，butresumedabruptly：”SheusedtoexpectmetosayitmoreoftenthanIfeltit，andtherewewere。”Herfacelookedmysteriouslytroubled，and，afraidthathehadsaidsomethingpainful，hehurriedon：”Whenmylittlesweetmarries，Ihopeshe’llfindsomeonewhoknowswhatwomenfeel。Ishan’tbeheretoseeit，butthere’stoomuchtopsy-turvydominmarriage；Idon’twanthertopitchupagainstthat。”And，awarethathehadmadebadworse，headded：”Thatdogwillscratch。”
　　Asilencefollowed。Ofwhatwasshethinking，thisprettycreaturewhoselifewasspoiled；whohaddonewithlove，andyetwasmadeforlove?Somedaywhenhewasgone，perhaps，shewouldfindanothermate——notsodisorderlyasthatyoungfellowwhohadgothimselfrunover。Ah！butherhusband?”DoesSoamesnevertroubleyou?”heasked。
　　Sheshookherhead。Herfacehadclosedupsuddenly。Forallhersoftnesstherewassomethingirreconcilableabouther。Andaglimpseoflightontheinexorablenatureofsexantipathiesstrayedintoabrainwhich，belongingtoearlyVictoriancivil-
　　isation——somucholderthanthisofhisoldage——hadneverthoughtaboutsuchprimitivethings。”That’sacomfort，”hesaid。”YoucanseetheGrandStandto-day。
　　Shallwetakeaturnround?”
　　Throughtheflowerandfruitgarden，againstwhosehighouterwallspeachtreesandnectarinesweretrainedtothesun，throughthestables，thevinery，themushroomhouse，theasparagusbeds，therosery，thesummer-house，heconductedher——evenintothekitchengardentoseethetinygreenpeaswhichHollylovedtoscoopoutoftheirpodswithherfinger，andlickupfromthepalmofherlittlebrownhand。Manydelightfulthingsheshowedher，whileHollyandthedogBalthasardancedahead，orcametothematintervalsforattention。Itwasoneofthehappiestafternoonshehadeverspent，butittiredhimandhewasgladtositdowninthemusicroomandlethergivehimtea。AspeciallittlefriendofHolly’shadcomein——afairchildwithshorthairlikeaboy’s。Andthetwosportedinthedistance，underthestairs，onthestairs，andupinthegallery。OldJolyonbeggedforChopin。Sheplayedstudies，mazurkas，waltzes，tillthetwochildren，creepingnear，stoodatthefootofthepianotheirdarkandgoldenheadsbentforward，listening。OldJolyonwatched。”Let’sseeyoudance，youtwo！”
　　Shyly，withafalsestart，theybegan。Bobbingandcircling，earnest，notveryadroit，theywentpastandpasthischairtothestrainsofthatwaltz。Hewatchedthemandthefaceofherwhowasplayingturnedsmilingtowardsthoselittledancersthinking：
　　’SweetestpictureI’veseenforages。’
　　Avoicesaid：”Hollee！Maisenfin——quest-cequetufaisla——danser，ledimanche！
　　Viens，donc！”
　　ButthechildrencameclosetooldJolyon，knowingthathewouldsavethem，andgazedintoafacewhichwasdecidedly’caughtout。’”Bettertheday，betterthedeed，Mam’zelle。It’sallmydoing。
　　Trotalong，chicks，andhaveyourtea。”
　　And，whentheyweregone，followedbythedogBalthasar，whotookeverymeal，helookedatIrenewithatwinkleandsaid：”Well，thereweare！Aren’ttheysweet?Haveyouanylittleonesamongyourpupils?””Yes，three——twoofthemdarlings。””Pretty?””Lovely！”
　　OldJolyonsighed；hehadaninsatiableappetitefortheveryyoung。”Mylittlesweet，”hesaid，”isdevotedtomusic；she’llbeamusiciansomeday。Youwouldn’tgivemeyouropinionofherplaying，Isuppose?””OfcourseIwill。””Youwouldn’tlike——”buthestifledthewords”togiveherlessons。”Theideathatshegavelessonswasunpleasanttohim；
　　yetitwouldmeanthathewouldseeherregularly。Sheleftthepianoandcameovertohischair。”Iwouldlike，verymuch；butthereis——June。Whenaretheycomingback?”
　　OldJolyonfrowned。”Nottillthemiddleofnextmonth。Whatdoesthatmatter?””YousaidJunehadforgivenme；butshecouldneverforget，UncleJolyon。”
　　Forget！Shemustforget，ifhewantedherto。
　　Butasifanswering，Ireneshookherhead。”Youknowshecouldn’t；
　　onedoesn’tforget。”
　　Alwaysthatwretchedpast！Andhesaidwithasortofvexedfinality：”Well，weshallsee。”
　　Hetalkedtoheranhourormore，ofthechildren，andahundredlittlethings，tillthecarriagecameroundtotakeherhome。Andwhenshehadgonehewentbacktohischair，andsattheresmoothinghisfaceandchin，dreamingovertheday。
　　Thateveningafterdinnerhewenttohisstudyandtookasheetofpaper。Hestayedforsomeminuteswithoutwriting，thenroseandstoodunderthemasterpiece’DutchFishingBoatsatSunset。’Hewasnotthinkingofthatpicture，butofhislife。HewasgoingtoleavehersomethinginhisWill；nothingcouldsohavestirredthestillydeepsofthoughtandmemory。Hewasgoingtoleaveheraportionofhiswealth，ofhisaspirations，deeds，qualities，work