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Macfarren's agony of pity was painful to him. The idea that she would be laughed at inspired him with frenzy. Yet, having perfect self-control, he gave no outward indication of the tumult within him, and managed to say in quite his ordinary voice to Marian, "Won't you let me give you some of this roast beef?"

"In faith I will," responded Marian, with alacrity, and, reaching over, she picked up a large slice of rare beef in her fingers and began munching it with much enjoyment. Macfarren was past being flustered then.

"Won't you have some potatoes?" he asked, politely.

"Some—what didst thou say?"

"Potatoes. Just try some."

"What strange stuff is that? Will it not give me a palsy, or the falling sickness? Methinks I have heard they were poisonous."

"They are excellent and very wholesome," said Macfarren, helping her, and gently thrusting a fork into her hand. "Sir Walter Raleigh brought them from—from—" he felt a strange hesitation at saying the word "America."

"Then will I try them," said Marian, dropping the fork and taking a spoon. "Dost thou know Sir Walter?" asked she, while busily engaged in munching the beef and ladling up the potatoes.