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to this entertainment; the grass was vivid on the broad walk beside the parapet, the park and forest were fresh and leafy and the prettiest golden light hung over the curving Seine and the far-spreading city. The hill which forms the terrace stretched down among the vineyards, with the poles delicate yet in their bareness, to the river, and the prospect was spotted here and there with the red legs ofthe little sauntering soldiers of the garrison. How it came, after Delia’s warning in regard to her carrying on (especially as she had not failed to feel the force of her sister’s wisdom), Francie could not have told herself: certain it is that before ten minutes had elapsed she perceived, first, that the evening would not pass without Mr. Flack’s taking in some way, and for a certain time, peculiar possession of her; and then that he was already doing so, that he had drawn her away from the others, who were stopping behind them to exclaim upon the view, that he made her walk faster, and that he ended by interposing such a distance that she was practically alone with him. This was what he wanted, but it was not all; she felt that he wanted a great many other things. The large perspective of the terrace stretched away before them (Mr. Probert had said it was in the grand style), and he was determined to make her walk to the end. She felt sorry for his determinations; they were an idle exercise of a force intrinsically fine, and she wanted to protest, to let him know that it was really a waste of his great cleverness to count upon her. She was not to be counted on; she was a vague, soft, negative being who had never decided anything and never would, who had not even the merit of coquetry and who only asked to be let alone. She made him stop at last, telling him, while she leaned against the parapet, that he walked too fast; and she looked back at their companions, whom she expected to see, under pressure from Delia, following at the highest speed. But they were not following; they still stood there, only looking, attentively enough, at the absent members of the party. Delia would wave her parasol, beckon her back, send Mr. Waterlow to bring her; Francie looked from one moment to another for some suchmanifestation as that. But no manifestation came; none at least but the odd spectacle, presently, of the group turning round and, evidently under Delia’s direction, retracing its steps. Francie guessed in a moment what was meant by that: it was the most definite signal her sister could have given. It made her feel that Delia counted on her, but to such a different end, just as poor Mr. Flack did, just as Delia wished to persuade her that Mr. Probert did. The girl gave a sigh, looking up at her companion with troubled eyes, at the idea, of being made the object of converging policies. Such a thankless, bored, evasive little object as she felt herself! What Delia had said in turning away was—“Yes, I am watching you, and I depend upon you to finish him up. Stay there with him—go off with him (I’ll give you half an hour if necessary), only settle him once for all. It is very kind of me to give you this chance; and in return for it I expect you to be able to tell me this evening that he has got his answer. Shut him up!”
    Francie did not in the least dislike Mr. Flack. Interested as I am in presenting her favourably to the reader I am yet obliged as a veracious historian to admit that he seemed to her decidedly a brilliant being. In many a girl the sort of appreciation she had of him might easily have been converted by peremptory treatment from outside into something more exalted. I do not misrepresent the perversity of women in saying that our young lady might at this moment have replied to her sister with: “No, I was not in love with him, but somehow since you are so very prohibitive I foresee that I shall be if he asks me.” It is doubtless difficult to say more for Francie’s simplicity of character than that she felt