always sure of my best help, and incidentally of Lightwood’s too, in your efforts to clear your father. So, it gradually takes my fancy that I may help you — so easily! — to clear your father of that other blame which I mentioned a few minutes ago, and which is a just and real one. I hope I have explained myself; for I am heartily sorry to have distressed you. I hate to claim to mean well, but I really did mean honestly and simply well, and I want you to know it.”

“I have never doubted that, Mr Wrayburn,” said Lizzie; the more repentant, the less he claimed.

“I am very glad to hear it. Though if you had quite understood my whole meaning at first, I think you would not have refused. Do you think you would?”

“I — don’t know that I should, Mr Wrayburn.”

“Well! Then why refuse now you do understand it?”

“It’s not easy for me to talk to you,” returned Lizzie, in some confusion, “for you see all the consequences of what I say, as soon as I say it.”

“Take all the consequences,” laughed Eugene, “and take away my disappointment. Lizzie Hexam, as I truly respect you, and as I am your friend and a poor devil of a gentleman, I protest I don’t even now understand why you hesitate.”

There was an appearance of openness, trustfulness, unsuspecting generosity, in his words and manner, that won the poor girl over; and not only won her over, but again caused her to feel as though she had been influenced by the opposite qualities, with vanity at their head.

“I will not hesitate any longer, Mr Wrayburn. I hope you will not think the worse of me for having hesitated at all. For myself and for Jenny — you let me answer for you, Jenny dear?”

The little creature had been leaning back, attentive, with her elbows resting on the elbows of her chair, and her chin upon her hands. Without changing her attitude, she answered, “Yes!” so suddenly that it rather seemed as if she had chopped the monosyllable than spoken it.

“For myself and for Jenny, I thankfully accept your kind offer.”

“Agreed! Dismissed!” said Eugene, giving Lizzie his hand before lightly waving it, as if he waved the whole subject away. “I hope it may not be often that so much is made of so little!”

Then he fell to talking playfully with Jenny Wren. “I think of setting up a doll, Miss Jenny,” he said.

“You had better not,” replied the dressmaker.

“Why not?”

“You are sure to break it. All you children do.”

“But that makes good for trade, you know, Miss Wren,” returned Eugene. “Much as people’s breaking promises and contracts and bargains of all sorts, makes good for my trade.”

“I don’t know about that,” Miss Wren retorted; “but you had better by half set up a pen-wiper, and turn industrious, and use it.”

“Why, if we were all as industrious as you, little Busy-Body, we should begin to work as soon as we could crawl, and there would be a bad thing!”