266 THE PANELLED HOUSE

pooh-poohed her, but all the way home I’ve been
thinking of it, and I do believe it’s true !”

“ What is it?” said Aunt Hermy imploringly :
but her sister was not to be induced to tell one
moment before she chose.

“ Jane Heydon said—you know I could not help
telling her what was going on, though I thought it
would be of no use to let Nest into it before the
proper time—she said when I mentioned to her
about Mr. Burnet, ‘ Well, Imogen, all I can say is,
that if she accepts him it will show she has more
sense than I’ve thought of late she had, since I’ve
seen her so taken up with that good-for-nothing
young Armyn.’ So I said she was not taken up
with him, it was only because Flora was a friend
of hers that she had been there so much of late 3
and Jane Heydon laughed in my face, and said
‘Just watch their eyes next time you see them
together, that is all.’ Well, Hermy, I don’t know
about their eyes : but I don’t see why she should
refuse this poor man so absolutely if she has not
somebody else in her mind ; and who should it be
but Escott Armyn? Why, the girl sees nobody
else.”

Aunt Hermy began to tremble so much that she
had to sit down in the easy-chair by the fire.
When any thing has escaped your view, and some-
thing suddenly happens to make you remark it, if
it is an object in your range of vision, it stands out
prominently before all the rest: if it is a truth, it
burns into your mind at once with the intensity of
conviction.

“My dear Immy !” she said in a faltering voice.
* That wretched boy !”

“Yes, you may well say that. He is on his way
to become as great a blackguard as his friend, Mr.
Smith. Jane Heydon hears from the gardener
Hoskins, whose sister is housekeeper there—you
remember that old Mrs. Salmon, who was nothing
much to speak of in her youth—well, she says that
the goings on there, the drinking and gambling, are
awful : and Eseott Armyn is there every night. I
cannot believe that his father knows it. Hoskins
met him—Esecott Armyn, I mean—coming home
one night so tipsy that he could not walk straight.”

“My dear Immy,” said poor Aunt Hermy, whose
face had grown paler and paler. “But Winny
can’t know it: if she has any fancy for him she
will give it up when she hears this.”

“T can’t say any thing about Winny,” said Miss
Imogen. “Girls take odd fancies into their heads
sometimes: and certainly when I walked down
with Mr. Burnet, and met the two together, they
looked extremely confidential. As I said before, if
it’s true, it’s a pretty kettle of fish to have to
meddle with.”

“I will go up at once and find out,” said Aunt
Hermy, wiping her eyes. “And if it is as we

fear, Immy, what shall we do? Shall I take
Winny with me, or what ?” |

“You can’t do that, with all this wedding
nonsense coming on,” said Aunt Immy. “ And
considering that the Peldons have only one spare |
room, and that you, Nest, and Winny can’t all
sleep in one bed, I don’t see how you can propose
to take her there. You must leave her with me,
and I'll keep her out of mischief, poor little thing, |
till you come back.”

Aunt Hermy sighed heavily, and walked slowly
upstairs. Winny was standing by the window, and
Nest kneeling by the fire: they had been carrying
on one of those sisterly discussions, with long
pauses between each response from Nest, which
were the most usual form of important conversation
between these two.

““Winny, my dear,” the aunt said hurriedly,
“come into my room, will you? I want to talk to
you.”

Winny followed obediently, and went and sat
herself down on the window-seat. Grey and moist |
as the morning had been, it had cleared a little |
now ; the clouds were no longer of a uniform tint,
but graduated, some more some less softly, from
bluish grey to yellowish white. On the horizon
was a space of clear white behind the leafless trees,
and the wind was rising, and moaned in the
crevices of the old house. The fireless room was
cold, and Winny shivered: her aunt saw it, and
took a warm shawl and put it round her. Winny
lifted up her face for a grateful kiss with a pathetic, |
deprecating smile, which went to her aunt’s heart,
Poor little face—it had grown very thin and small,
and the big eyes had heavy blue rings round them
now. The shadow of the Manor had fallen upor
her heart at last.

“ Winny, my darling,” said Aunt Hermy, with a
sort of choking in her voice, “it is not because you
care for any one else that you have refused Mr.
Burnet—is it ?”

Winny sat still and looked out of the window
without answering for awhile. Then she said
softly, “Yes, Aunt Hermy.”

“ My child, it is not Escott Armyn ?” |

“Yes, it is. I can’t help it,” said Winny, “I
do care for him very much.” |

“But, my poor Winny,” said tender-hearted
Aunt Hermy, beginning to cry herself, though
Winny was quite composed and quiet—almost too |
impassive, any one might have said who had not |
noticed the quick heave of the chest, or seen the |
nervous catching of the breath. ‘“ My poor litile
one, you know he is not the sort of man we could |
let you marry. We don’t blame you, Winny; we |
blame ourselves for not having kept you out of his |
way.” |

“Do you mean never, Aunt Hermy ?” said

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