No longer in mourning, Miss Bella was dressed in as pretty colours as she could muster. There is no denying that she was as pretty as they, and that she and the colours went very prettily together. She was reading as she walked, and of course it is to be inferred, from her showing no knowledge of Mr. Rokesmith’s approach, that she did not know he was approaching.

“Eh?” said Miss Bella, raising her eyes from her book, when he stopped before her. “Oh! It’s you.”

“Only I. A fine evening!”

“Is it?” said Bella, looking coldly round. “I suppose it is, now you mention it. I have not been thinking of the evening.”

“So intent upon your book?”

“Ye‑e‑es,” replied Bella, with a drawl of indifference.

“A love story, Miss Wilfer?”