But if in the course of conversation I remark casually, 'Did he find bilbie ?' or 'Was that quite silvendy ?' (though the sense of the question is vague to me) she falls into the trap, and the words explain themselves in her replies.

Or maybe to-day she sees whither I am leading her, and such is her sensitiveness that she is quite hurt.

The humour goes out of her face (to find bilbie in some more silvendy spot), and her reproachful eyes--but now I am on the arm of her chair, and we have made it up.

Nevertheless, I shall get no more old-world Scotch out of her this forenoon, she weeds her talk determinedly, and it is as great a falling away as when the mutch gives place to the cap.
I am off for my afternoon walk, and she has promised to bar the door behind me and open it to none.

When I return,--well, the door is still barred, but she is looking both furtive and elated.