a　ready；　it　is　another　privilege　we　exercise　in　our　little　moorland　home—to　prepare　our　own　meals　when　we　are　so　inclined；　or　when　Hannah　is　baking；　brewing；　washing；　or　ironing。”

She　closed　the　door；　leaving　me　solus　with　Mr。　St。　John；　who　sat　opposite；　a　book　or　newspaper　in　his　hand。　I　examined　first；　the　parlour；　and　then　its　occupant。

The　parlour　was　rather　a　small　room；　very　plainly　furnished；　yet　fortable；　because　clean　and　neat。　The　old…fashioned　chairs　were　very　bright；　and　the　walnut…wood　table　was　like　a　looking…glass。　A　feen　and　women　of　other　days　decorated　the　stained　walls；　a　cupboard　with　glass　doors　contained　some　books　and　an　ancient　set　of　china。　There　was　no　superfluous　ornament　in　the　room—not　one　modern　piece　of　furniture；　save　a　brace　of　workboxes　and　a　lady’s　desk　in　rosewood；　which　stood　on　a　side…table：　everything—including　the　carpet　and　curtains—looked　at　once　well　worn　and　well　saved。

Mr。　St。　John—sitting　as　still　as　one　of　the　dusty　pictures　on　the　walls；　keeping　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　page　he　perused；　and　his　lips　mutely　sealed—was　easy　enough　to　examine。　Had　he　been　a　statue　instead　of　a　man；　he　could　not　have　been　easier。　He　was　young—　perhaps　from　twenty…eight　to　thirty—tall；　slender；　his　face　riveted　the　eye；　it　was　like　a　Greek　face；　very　pure　in　outline：　quite　a　straight；　classic　nose；　quite　an　Athenian　mouth　and　chin。　It　is　seldom；　indeed；　an　English　face　es　so　near　the　antique　models　as　did　his。　He　might　well　be　a　lit