to his knee, patted him, and smiled one little smile to himself.
An acute observer might have remarked, in the course of the same evening, that after Tartar had resumed his allegiance to Shirley, and was once more couched near her foot-stool, the audacious tutor by one word and gesture fascinated him again. He pricked up his ears at the word; he started erect at the gesture, and came, with head lovingly depressed, to receive the expected caress: as it was given, the significant smile again rippled across Moore's quiet face.
"Shirley," said Caroline, one day, as they two were sitting alone in the summer-house, "did you know that my cousin Louis was tutor in your uncle's family before the Sympsons came down here?"
Shirley's reply was not so prompt as her responses usually were, but at last she answered,—
"Yes,—of course: I knew it well."
"I thought you must have been aware of the circumstance."
"Well! what then?"
"It puzzles me to guess how it chanced that you never mentioned it to me."
"Why should it puzzle you?"
"It seems odd. I cannot account for it. You talk a great deal,—you talk freely. How was that circumstance never touched on?"
"Because it never was," and Shirley laughed.
