not much better. Of course I am not thinking of Katharine; for nobody could be nicer than her in every way, and yet she gets all the admiration which shows that men do not really like the horrid fast girls. Captain Loyd follows her everywhere; and Lord Humphrey Durfey, who used not to go much into nice society, is most attentive. I only mention this because you are such old friends. There was quite a commotion at Burhill House on Monday, where she wore her hair in a new way. Your funny friend, young Mr Aubrey, would have said that the Chinese ambassador was quite out of the running. Mr Zarza Parilla, who belongs to one of the legations, and is very handsome in an Eastern style, though too Jewish-looking for my taste—but I daresay that is a prejudice-is wild about her. Mrs Adare is in ecstasies, but more absent than ever. I have advised her to see Dr Legsome, who did wonders for old Lord Daly's gout. She said such pretty things about you, and let out in a dreamy way that she used to want you for a son. She said that you are so unlike the young men of the day-and that, I am sure, is true-and that Katharine is quite provoked with their airs and graces. Why don't you come to town, and see something of the season? Mrs Adare says that to mix

in good society prevents a young man from getting entangled with inferior people; and really, as Sir Joseph says, why should we cast pearls before swine. Of course I know, dear Irvine, that your taste and principle will always preserve you from an unworthy alliance; but still, one cannot be too careful. I am sure that, if you come to town, Katharine will be glad to see her old friend again, and so shall we all be. Sir Joseph sends his love. He was on his way to the House, and has just stepped back to say that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, which I am sure is true. I do wish this French Egg discussion was off his mind. Good-bye, dear Irvie; do not be imprudent, and come to us whenever you can.-Your very affectionate aunt, ELLEN HAREFEL."

When Irvine had read this long letter, he put it quickly into his pocket, and tore open that of his other aunt. Miss Susan's writing was tremulous, and seemed to hurry and stumble forward in eagerness to meet her nephew's eye :

"DEAR IRVINE,-A line in haste! I dare not let the post go without a word. I dare not think what dear Ellen has been writing to you. Adeline Adare

is my dearest friend-she so thoroughly understands me; but you know her fits of absence. She said something about you, and Ellen caught it up, and has written. I don't know what to say, but I know how sensitive you are, and how you will be wounded by what seems a want of delicacy in dear Adeline Adare. She is so unguarded and open. You must forgive her. I think that Katharine would die if she knew what had been said. I am afraid that I have not said what I meant, but I could not let the post go. Barnes is waiting for the letter. I do so well know that these things should not be spoken about. I do feel for you.-Your loving aunt,

“S. HAREFEL.”

"P.S.-You must not think from this that we don't all want you to come to London. It seems but yesterday that you and she were playing as children; and now-but I must not say it."

Irvine laughed as he thrust the second letter into his pocket, and Aubrey, looking up from his jam and morning paper, could not withhold a whistle of surprise. Dale jumped up to hide his confusion. His heart was strangely quiet; he was full of a trouble which was half pleasant.

K

Beyond the disquiet of the moment, he saw growing larger and surer a great joy. No more tossing at the will of the waves; no more doubting whether to go-for there was the beacon-light, and it was the light of home. No more to follow wandering fires. Out, out, brief candle! for is not the sun mounting high in heaven? is not the morning come?

"Is it settled that we may go down to-morrow?" asked Dale.

"Yes," answered Leonard, staring; "but I thought you were going to stay up with your German?"

"German!" cried Dale, who had passed at one bound to a world where all languages are inadequate. So he chucked his grammar on to a shelf, and cried, "Auf wiedersehen!"

147

CHAPTER XIII.

HOLIDAY.

"Boys and girls, come out to play," sang Leonard Aubrey, under Ned Harefel's window. "The Solitary from the lonesome vale will join our rustic sports. 'Tis time; descend." And Harefel descended, eager for cricket; and friends came with him, and the morning was fair, and life was better than books. And Irvine went among his comrades, young and forgetful of problems, and in his heart a song which was for his heart only. So they went altogether with laughter and foolish talk, and found the wickets pitched, and all things ready for play.

Irvine lay on the short warm grass in the glory of youth and of white flannel, lazily watching the men at the wickets, and thinking of a certain house in a London street. It is a street of many houses,