"Your een were like a spell, Jeanie;
Mair sweet than I can tell, lassie,
That ilka day bewitched me sae
I couldna help mysel', lassie."
"Who are you trying to read, Miss Crew?"
"Your friend, Mr. Babbington-Cole, Mrs. Gower," she said, with a start, placing the photo back in its frame.
"And has it told you its name was Babbington-Cole, ma chere; we only give the latter?"
"Yes; but you know his name is Babbington-Cole, Mrs. Gower," she answered, evading the question.
"We do. Do you like his face?"
"Yes, very much; he looks so kind and sweet-tempered."
"Poor Charlie Cole, he is all of that; excessively amiable people so often wed the reverse. I do hope it is not so in his case." "It is a dreadful fate," said the girl, absently. "But we must hope for the best, Miss Crew; but his long silence makes me fanciful; however, if we don't receive news direct very soon—as I have had some queer dreams of him lately—I shall write the clergyman at Bayswater."
"The reverend—I mean, how will you address it; just to the clergyman, or how?" she said, intent upon her work.
"Yes, that's very true, I don't know his name. Oh, I have it; Mr. Smyth left the paper with the marriage insertion; I do hope it has not been destroyed;" and going to the rack, to look over its contents, Miss Crew, excusing herself, left the room to get into her wraps, as she was due to tea at the Tremaine's. Mrs. Gower, looking in vain for the English newspaper, seated herself comfortably to read the report of the Board of Trade dinner to the Honorable Joseph Chamberlain.