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‘Let me taste,’ said she to Graham, as he was putting the cup on the shelf of the dresser out of her reach.

Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home were now engaged in conversation. Dr.John had not been unobservant of the fairy’s dance; he had watched it, and he had liked it. To say nothing of the softness and beauty of the movements, eminently grateful to his grace-loving eye, that ease in his mother’s house charmed him, for it set him at ease: again she seemed a child for him—again, almost his playmate. I wondered how he would speak to her; I had not yet seen him address her; his first words proved that the old days of ‘little Polly’ had been recalled to his mind by this evening’s child-like light-heartedness.

‘Your ladyship wishes for the tankard?’

‘I think I said so. I think I intimated as much.’

‘Couldn’t consent to a step of the kind on any account. Sorry for it, but couldn’t do it.’

‘Why? I am quite well now: it can’t break my collar-bone again, or dislocate my shoulder. Is it wine?’

‘No; nor dew.’

‘I don’t want dew; I don’t like dew: but what is it?’

‘Ale—strong ale—old October; brewed, perhaps, when I was born.’

‘It must be curious: is it good?’

‘Excessively good.’

And he took it down, administered to himself a second dose of this mighty elixir, expressed in his mischievous eyes extreme contentment with the same, and solemnly replaced the cup on the shelf.

‘I should like a little,’ said Paulina, looking up; ‘I never had any “old October:” is it sweet?’

‘Perilously sweet,’ said Graham.

She continued to look up exactly with the countenance of a child that longs for some prohibited dainty. At last the Doctor relented, took it down, and indulged himself in the gratification of letting her taste from his hand; his eyes, always expressive in the revelation of pleasurable feelings, luminously and smilingly avowed that it was a gratification; and he prolonged it by so regulating the position of the cup that only a drop at a time could reach the rosy, sipping lips by which its brim was courted.

‘A little more—a little more,’ said she, petulantly touching his hand with her forefinger, to make him incline the cup more generously and yieldingly. ‘It smells of spice and sugar, but I can’t taste it; your wrist is so stiff, and you are so stingy.’

He indulged her, whispering, however, with gravity: ‘Don’t tell my mother or Lucy; they wouldn’t approve.’

‘Nor do I,’ said she, passing into another tone and manner as soon as she had fairly assayed the beverage, just as if it had acted upon her like some disenchanting draught, undoing the work of a wizard: ‘I find it anything but sweet; it is bitter and hot, and takes away my breath. Your old October was only desirable while forbidden. Thank you, no more.’

And, with a slight bend—careless, but as graceful as her dance—she glided from him and rejoined her father.

I think she had spoken truth: the child of seven, was in the girl of seventeen.

Graham looked after her a little baffled, a little puzzled; his eye was on her a good deal during the rest of the evening, but she did not seem to notice him.

As we ascended to the drawing-room for tea, she took her father’s arm: her natural place seemed to be at his side; her eyes and her ears were dedicated to him. He and Mrs. Bretton were the chief talkers of our little party, and Paulina was their best listener, attending closely to all that was said, prompting the repetition of this or that trait or adventure.

‘And where were you at such a time, papa? And what did you say then? And tell Mrs. Bretton what happened on that occasion.’ Thus she drew him out.

She did not again yield to any effervescence of glee; the infantine sparkle was exhaled for the night: she was soft, thoughtful, and docile. It was pretty to see her bid good-night; her manner to Graham was touched with dignity: in her very slight smile and quiet bow spoke the Countess, and Graham could not but look grave, and bend responsive. I saw he hardly knew how to blend together in his ideas the dancing fairy and