He was certainly a charming young man.
Fanny Newt, with lips parted, looked at him a moment and shook her head gently.

Abel was sure she would happen to find herself in the conservatory presently, whither he and his companion slowly passed.
It was prettily illuminated with a few candles, but was left purposely dim.
"How lovely it is here! Oh! how fond I am of flowers!" said Miss Plumer, with the prettiest little rapture, and such a little spring that Abel was obliged to hold her arm more closely.
"Are you fond of flowers, Mr.Newt ?" "Yes; but I prefer them living." "Living flowers--what a poetic idea! But what do you mean ?" asked Grace Plumer, hanging her head.
Abel saw somebody on the cane sofa under the great orange-tree, almost hidden in the shade.

Dear Fanny! thought he.
"My dear Grace," began Abel, in his lowest, sweetest voice; but the conservatory was so still that the words could have been easily heard by any one sitting upon the sofa.
Some one was sitting there--some one did hear.

Abel smiled in his heart, and bent more closely to his companion.

His manner was full of tender devotion.