could not quite compre: it made me giddy. t sent tronger tent  smote and stunned. It  fear.

    “You bluse, Jane:  for?”

    “Because you gave me a ne seems so strange.”

    “Yes, Mrs. Rocer,” said er—Fairfax Rocer’s girl-bride.”

    “It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. e  born for a different destiny to t of my species: to imagine suc befalling me is a fairy tale—a day-dream.”

    “o-day. te to my banker in London to send me certain jeo your lap: for every privilege, every attention s I o marry her.”

    “O like to ural and strange: I  hem.”

    “I  t on your fore ure, at least, amped ent of nobility on ts on ts, and load th rings.”

    “No, no, sir! ts, and speak of otrain. Don’t address me as if I y; I am your plain, Quakerish governess.”

    “You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after t,—delicate and aerial.”

    “Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir,—or you are sneering. For God’s sake don’t be ironical!”

    “I y, too,”  on, rain ed, because I felt rying to delude me. “I tire my Jane in satin and lace, and s h a priceless veil.”

    “And t kno an ape in a —a jay in borroricked out in stage-trappings, as myself clad in a court-lady’s robe; and I don’t call you  dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don’t flatter me.”

    noticing my deprecation. “take you in to Millcote, and you must cold you ake place quietly, in t you a once to toer a brief stay treasure to regions nearer to Frencalian pl