I laughed.

“Poor girl, think how hard her punishment was! I don’t think, if I had married the prince, I could ever have forgotten that he had been a beast, and I should have always been in fear of his changing back again.”

“The true story is, you know, that he always remained a beast, but he gave her so many diamonds and beautiful things that she overlooked his ugliness. Like that the story happens every day.”

I only shook my head gently; I could not contradict Mr. Rayner, but I would not believe him.

“Now, if you were Beauty, what would you ask papa to bring you?”

I laughed shyly.

“A prince?” I blushed and shook my head.

“No, not yet,” I said, smiling rather mischievously.

“A ring, a bracelet, a brooch?”

“Oh, no!”

“A Murray’s Grammar, a pair of globes, a black-board?”

“No, Mr. Rayner. I should say a rose like Beauty—a beautiful Marshal Niel rose. I couldn’t think of anything lovelier than that.”

“That is a large pale yellow rose, isn’t it? I can’t get it to grow here. What a pity we are not in a fairy tale, Miss Christie, and then the soil wouldn’t matter! We would have Marshal Niel roses growing up to the chimney-pots.”

We had sauntered back to the dining-room window, and there, staring out upon us in a strange fixed way, was Mrs. Rayner. She continued to look at us, and especially at me, as if fascinated, until we were close to the window, when she turned with a start; and when we entered the room the intent expression had faded from her lustreless eyes, and she was her usual lifeless self again.

At dinner-time Mr. Rayner did not appear; I was too shy to ask Mrs. Rayner the reason, and I could only guess, when tea-time came and again there was no place laid for him, that he had gone away somewhere. I was sure of it when he had not reappeared the next morning, and then I became conscious of a slow but sure change, a kind of gradual 

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