surpassing elegance. Siberian dinners were not yet the fashion, and plate, as well as flowers, was displayed upon the board. The repast was of the most recherché description, and the guests did justice to it. Mr. Chester, somewhat of a gourmand, openly praised the soup-he was an old friend, be it observed --and Sir Thomas Charteris, a connoisseur in wines, extolled the sherry and the Silery champagne, which latter, he informed the company, was the only kind he ever condescended to imbibe. "You must have a first-rate chef, Sir Ralph," observed Mr. Chester, as he helped himself to some col au vent. I "It is superb," was the answer. "Plenty of the | old madré cask there;" holding his glass up to the light. "You keep this in petto, Sir Ralph; only produce it on rare occasions like the present." Sir Ralph smiled. Captain Wedderburn, though not openly invited to do so, had contrived to place himself next to his cousin Miss Charteris being on his left-but as this brought him within the range of his mother's eyes, his mannerwas studiously guarded, and neither he nor Grace ventured upon a look which those keen and watchful eyes could have taken umbrage at. Mrs. Wedderburn, indeed, from her seat opposite, cast sundry significant glances at her son, as she surveyed the well-appointed table and the costly viands, and the mental comment that trembled on her lips and almost burned for utterance was-"Pretty doings for a half-ruined man!” Mr. Wedderburn sat on the other side of Grace, regarding her with open admiration---she was looking wonderfully handsome-and paying her from time to time those old-fashioned flaming compliments which some men imagine to be the only style of conversation which young ladies care to listen to. Miss Musgrave bestowed her smiles with commendable impartiality upon the two gentlemen on either side of her, Edward Harington and Francis Chester, with both of whom she contrived to keep up a lively flow of small talk, only that with one the talk, though small, was not insignificant. Mrs. Fletcher fell to the share of Mr. Chester the elder, who considered that he fully performed his duty by her when he recommended to her notice every dish which he had qualified himself to pronounce upon; and when that worthy lady assured him that she preferred a slice off the joint to all the complications of made-dishes, because, as she observed, then you knew what you were eating, whereas in the other case you never did, he deemed himself perfectly justified in almost turning his back upon her and bestowing all his attentions upon Lady Charteris, a sweet, gentle person, who assented to most of his remarks, or only negatived them by a quiet smile. Arnold Harington, meanwhile, was left to the tender mercies of Mrs. Wedderburn, who was careful to instil homoeopathic doses of poison into his unwilling ear, and to make her soreness about everything relating to Rushington, its present owners, their scandalous extravagance and impoverished estate, pretty evident. Many times during the dinner did he devoutly wish himself seated near some one else, and many more times during that evening did he long to break away from a scene whoso gaiety jarred with painful contrast upon his disappointed and embittered feelings. When the dinner things had been removed, and the dessert placed upon the table, Sir Ralph Wedderburn, after catching the eye of Mr. Harington, rose from his seat, and addressed the assembled guests. He began by thanking them for their presence at his table, and for the honour they had done him in accepting his invitation to celebrate the coming of age of his daughter, an event upon which he ventured to solicit their hearty congratulations. He then said a few words words which brought the bright tears to Grace's eyes-touching the lovable qualities of his daughter, and his own affection and pride in her; he alluded slightly to the extravagance which had characterized his earlier life, and the freedom with which he had spent his money, a freedom which would have been more blamable had he not known that he was not thereby injuring the prospects of his child. But he thanked God for it-his child was amply provided for, she would come into possession on this day-her twenty-first birthday-of a fortune which, though not enormous, was sufficient to secure her from the ills of poverty and dependence; which, if she remained single, would enable her to live in ease and comfort, and if she married, would put it in her husband's power to surround her with some of the refinements to which she had been accustomed. They might think it strange, perhaps, that this circumstance had not transpired, and that the fact of Miss Wedderburn being an heiress should have been kept so long in the dark; but the provisions of the will by which her fortune was secured to her insisted upon this concealment. The framer of that will, an eccentric old gentleman, Grace's godfather, had strenuously enforced this silence upon his goddaughter, and also upon the executors to the will. To that document he would not further allude; the clause of it in which he would assume they were all inore or less interested, would be read to them by his friend and legal adviser, Mr. Harington, in whose possession it had long been. Sir Ralph Wedderburn sat down amidst murmured expressions of surprise and congratulation, and Mr. Harington rose to his feet. He drew a parchment from his pocket, which he unfolded, announcing as he did so that it was the will of the late Giles Norcote, of Hatherstone, in the county of Berkshire, Esq., and proceeded to read it. I will spare the reader the technicalities of Mr. Norcote's very eccentric will, and content myself with briefly stating the substance of it. The testator bequeathed to Grace Norcote Wedder burn the sum of £35,000, for her sole use and benefit on her attaining the age of twenty-one, enjoining at the same time an absolute silence upon the subject of the sum thus bequeathed to her until she should be betrothed in marriage, the reason assigned for this strange injunction being, that Mr. Norcote desired that his goddaughter should be married for herself and not for her money, and "to secure her from the designs of fortune hunters and needy and avaricious persons." He had further insured the keeping of his secret by appointing Sir Ralph Wedderburn and the late Mr. Harington executors to the will; the one, Grace Wedderburn's own father, and, therefore, naturally most interested in her welfare, and the other that father's oldest and dearest friend. These gentlemen, entering into the spirit which had actuated the testator, and willing to comply with the wishes of the departed friend who had been so great | a benefactor to one of them, had religiously guarded the secret of Miss Wedderburn's heiress-ship until the present moment. On the death of the late Mr. Harington, which happened about a year before, the will had come into the possession of his son Arnold, who succeeded to his father's business. It had lain at his office in a strong box, appropriated to documents of a similar description, and he had remained in ignorance of its contents until the moment of reading it aloud to the guests assembled round the dining table at Rushington. Could it have been this which gave such an unusual agitation to his manner, and which caused both hand and voice to shake after glancing at those stiff cramped characters and taking in their meaning? Whatever it was which produced so unwonted an emotion, he had to subdue it as best he might, for the will must be read; and it fell to his lot moreover to propose Miss Wedderburn's health in a neat and appropriate speech-which, it must be confessed, he cut uncommonly short-and it would have seemed strange indeed had he failed to add his congratulations to those which were pouring in upon her from all sides. After the first flush of joyful surprise, Captain Wedderburn had become grave and thoughtful. He sat without speaking, glancing from time to time somewhat moodily at his cousin, radiant with smiles and blushes, as she received, with a grace peculiarly her own, the flattering sympathy of her friends. Suddenly she turned to him. "Know then, for your comfort, that I have been aware of it for the last four or five years." "And you never told me." "You forget that I was bound, in honour and gratitude to the kind friend who left me the money, to keep the secret till such time as-in short, till three days ago I was not at liberty to divulge it." "And why not then, when the knowledge would have spared so much that was painful?" "Alas for the vanity of human expectations!" cried Grace. "Here have I been planning the prettiest little surprise for you, as I thought, and you are not a bit grateful for it." "I am not ungrateful," replied Godfrey, fervently; "at least, you shall not find me so." "Godfrey," said Miss Wedderburn, raising her eyes to his, "this has been a very joyful day to me. To know that I had it in my power to smooth away all difficulties, and to make others happy; to know also that you loved me for myself, and not for my! fortune. Ah! my godfather was a wise old man, as well as a kind one." "And yet, Grace, I cannot help wishing that our positions were reversed, and that it rested with me alone to provide my darling wife with the comforts and luxuries I would wish her to er joy." "Pride, Godfrey, pride," answered Grace, shaking her head and laughing lightly. Then, altering her tone, she added, "And I also am proud; I am proud to think I can bestow that wealth upon my husband which he so well deserves, and which I know he will employ so nobly." Godfrey thanked her with his eyes, and by a silent pressure of her hand; then, perceiving that another pair of eyes were regarding them intently, he did not seek to renew a conversation of too interesting a nature perhaps for a dinner table. The observant eyes were those of Arnold Harington, and a sharp pang flew to his heart as he noted the apparent understanding between the cousins. All this time Mrs. Wedderburn had been sitting with compressed lips and a changing colour, feeling, if the truth be told, just the least in the world ashamed of herself. Presently, however, she cleared her brow. The time had been very short, she reflected, it was quite possible that Godfrey had been silent as to her sentiments and those of her husband with respect to his engagement; at any rate she would assume that he had been so, and be careful not to compromise herself by saying anything that might appear like an apology for her former conduct. So "I hardly know, Grace, whether I have cause to she waited till the ladies adjourned to the drawingbe pleased." "What do you mean?" "Grace Wedderburn without any fortune may be a very different person from Grace Wedderburn the heiress," he replied. "How wise my good cousin is, and what an ingenious self-tormentor! Did you really suppose that I was ignorant of my own importance?" "What reason had I to think otherwise?" room, when, taking Grace aside into the deep recess of a window, she embraced her affectionately, called her "her dear daughter," spoke of Godfrey's deep attachment, of the joy with which she and Mr. Wedderburn would welcome Grace to their home, and alluded to her fortune as a subject for congratulation only inasmuch as it would enable her to command those refinements and elegancies to which she had been accustomed, and which her husband, however desirous, might on his limited income be unable to moments, then turned away with a heightened give her. colour. Miss Wedderburn, though she could not wholly repress a feeling of contempt, had no desire to quarrel with her future mother-in-law; she replied, therefore, to this tender effusion with sufficient cordiality to satisfy that worthy lady, but she made no effort to prolong the interview, and the necessity of adding a few final touches to her dress before the rest of the company arrived afforded a happy excuse for putting a stop to a tête-à-tête which could be really grati-her, which she accorded; he paid her the stock comfying to neither party. Miss Wedderburn had opened the ball with her cousin-they were only distant cousins, be it observed in passing :-she deemed it a good mode of announcing their engagement, and many present viewed it in that light, and openly congratulated her; but Sir Charles Warren, who had arrived late, was not of the number. He came up to Grace with his usual empressement, and solicited the honour of dancing with CHAPTER III.A CARPET DANCE. VERY shortly after the two girls had re-descended to the drawing-room in full perfection of toilette the rooms began to fill; for people come early in the country, especially in anticipation of a carpet dance. Grace Wedderburn has been described, but her friend, Miss Musgrave, deserves also a few words of notice. She was very young, not yet eighteen, and appeared even younger, with her delicate blush rose complexion, her innocent blue eyes and golden hair, her little short nose, sweet pouting lips, and figure of fairy-like proportions. She looked indeed the very queen of the fairies on the evening in question; her light gossamer garments floated round her like a cloud, and when the dancing began and she was flying round the room with Francis Chester in the rapid evolutions of a deux-temps, her tiny feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground. Edward Harington stood looking on, watching the whirling couples possibly with envy, for his sacred calling precluded him from dancing; nevertheless, when Cecilia and her partner stopped near him, he addressed her thus: "May I ask the honour of your hand for the next quadrille, Miss Musgrave ?" For the next quadrille!" she answered, opening her blue eyes very wide. "Yes. Is it very extraordinary, very wrong, that I should break through my self-imposed rule for once, in honour of this day ?" "Not at all extraordinary, and not at all wrong," replied Cecilia, with animation. "I shall be deighted. But stay-I am afraid I am engaged for the next quadrille." "Then for the one after that," he said. "And for that also." "Perhaps I shall be more fortunate in a third," he said, smiling. "I will not dance any more quadrilles except with you," she answered. "Indeed, I would not-I am sorry-only I didn't think "Oh, pray don't apologise," he replied, laughing, "I am very fortunate to secure you for one." "Come, Miss Musgrave," cried her partner, somewhat impatient of the interruption, "we are losing half our valse." And he whisked her away again faster than ever. pliments to which she was in the habit of listening, and which she took at their worth-though scarcely so, perhaps, in this instance, for the baronet's admiration of her was sincere as far as it went-and he asked if there were any truth in the whisper he had heard of her accession of fortune; it could not enhance her merits, or add one iota to her charms, sho was a fortune in herself, &c., &c. Grace briefly explained, that, having on that day attained her majority, she had come into possession of a fortune, left her by her godfather; she did not name the amount, or mention any further particulars she had no wish to take Sir Charles Warren into her confidence. Notwithstanding the almost coldness of her manner, he stuck by her with provoking pertinacity, and it was not until Godfrey again claimed her, and in a tone which admitted of no dispute, that she was enabled to shake him off. An inkling of the truth dawned upon Sir Charles Warren's brain. Sauntering through the rooms with assumed indifference, he encountered Mr. Wedderburn. "What is this," said Sir Charles, after the usual greetings had passed between them; "what is this that I hear about Miss Wedderburn?" "The young lady has turned out to be an heiress," replied the other, " and no one knew anything about it until to-night; that is, no one except her father and Mr. Harington-the late Mr. Harington, I mean." "How very extraordinary! Pray, why was it kept secret so long?" "Oh, it was a whim of her godfather, old Norcote of Hatherstone; he wished to secure the girl from being snapped up by some fortune-hunter. I knew Norcote formerly, and I have often wondered what became of all his money; but I always imagined that he was not so rich as he was reputed to be." "Still, I don't quite understand," returned the baronet. "What is to hinder her from being snapped up now?" "Not the fact of her being of age, certainly," laughed Mr. Wedderburn; "but the executors were pledged to secrecy until the legatee should be engaged to be married." "And is she engaged to be married?" "She is." May I ask the name of the lucky individual?" "She is engaged to my son, Godfrey." Arnold Harington was an unwilling auditor of the above conversation; it did but confirm his previous Edward Harington watched them for a few impressions. Sir Charles Warren resumed his wanderings, and presently lighted upon Miss Musgrave, who had just completed her quadrille with Edward Harington. The baronet begged for the honour of the next dance, and struck up a lively flirtation with her, which he carried on at intervals through the evening. He was not without conversational powers, and made himself more than commonly agreeable, his object being to convince Miss Wedderburn that he had not the slightest intention of wearing the willow for her. Miss Wedderburn, had she thought about it, would probably have felt grateful for the knowledge; as it was, she merely experienced a sensation of surprise at observing his attentions to Cecilia, attentions which that young lady received with no visible marks of displeasure. But though Miss Musgrave was undoubtedly "the Cynthia of the minute," she was not even on the present occasion without a rival in the field, that rival being no other than Miss Charteris; tall, pale, and statuesque, and an old flame, moreover, of Sir Charles's, who had deserted her for the superior attractions of Miss Wedderburn. A few minutes later Miss Green and Arnold Harington were waltzing together. He danced very quietly, but remarkably well; there were few girls in that room who would not have been pleased to have been selected by him, yet Lavinia Green was the only one whom he had so distinguished. In the meanwhile, the dancing was carried on with great spirit, and the entertainment as a whole seemed to give universal satisfaction. The Wedderburns were popular in the neighbourhood, and did the thing well; the rooms were full enough without being crowded, and when the guests descended to the supperroom all were unanimous in pronouncing the arrangements to be most complete and elegant. Champagne flowed in abundance; healths were proposed and speeches made,-it was altogether a festive occasion. CHAPTER IV.-AFTER THE DANCE. THE last words-those long last words-had been gentle hand-pressures given and returned; the rooms were deserted, the flowers faded, the lights extinguished or expiring. Captain Wedderburn and Grace still lingered in the conservatory, glad of the opportunity for a few minutes of uninterrupted conversation; for the hearts of both were full even to overflowing with a very rare happiness. Miss Green from her post of observation watched all the proceedings: she has been alluded to before as the young lady who set her cap at Arnold Haring-spoken; some soft adieux had been whispered; some ton. She noted the position of the various couples in whom she was more or less interested, and was not long in remarking that Arnold stood aloof, that he neither joined the dancers, nor made one of the group of gentlemen who, with true English consistency, were eagerly discussing politics and farming. The thermometer of her hopes rose at the discovery. She still sat in the rather retired corner in which she had placed herself at first, and quietly and systematically declined all partners, or offers of a partner for quadrille, valse, or galop. Miss Green was not a very attractive looking girl; she was small and fair, freckled, and decidedly red-haired, with light blue eyes and thin lips; she had reached the age of eightand-twenty, and was still Miss Green: those who disliked her maintained that she had never had an offer; those, on the contrary, with whom she was in favour, merely pronounced that she was difficile. Arnold Harington, as it has been observed, was standing somewhat apart from the rest, regarding the gay scene in an abstracted manner, and apparently engrossed by his own thoughts, when Miss Wedderburn came up to him. But even the last words of lovers must come to an end-Godfrey had torn himself away, and Grace was slowly ascending the stairs to her room, when, happening to look up, she saw a little white figure pacing up and down the gallery upon which the sleeping apartments opened. It was Cecilia Musgrave; her pretty childish face almost as white as the wrapper which enveloped her. "Why, Cissy!", exclaimed her friend, when she reached the landing, "you here! I fancied you were in bed and asleep by this time; you went away halfan-hour ago." "There's no use in going to bed if you cannot sleep," replied Cissy. "Why can't you sleep, darling ?" asked Grace. "I am sure you look tired enough." And she stroked the face which looked so provok ingly charming within the borders of its little lace "Will not you dance, Mr. Harington ?" "If you will dance with me," he replied. "I am unfortunately engaged; but there are others nightcap. who are not." "I will dance with any one you please." "Miss Green has not stirred from that corner all the evening; not once have I seen her dancing." "Poor Miss Green!" he replied, with a somewhat humorous smile. "But I don't know why we should pity her, since her martyrdom is self-elected." "Self-elected! How do you know?" "Oh, no, I am not tired," answered Cecilia, "and I could not sleep. I have got what Goody calls 'the gay vapours.' "You are a little excited," said Grace; "you have been flirting so outrageously." Flirting !" replied Cissy, with the most innocent expression imaginable. 66 "Yes," laughed Grace; "what made you flirt so "Because I have heard her decline both introduc- desperately with Sir Charles Warren ?" tions and partners." "Did I flirt with him ?" "Now, Cissy!" "Well, I hardly know what you call flirting. Sir Charles is very polite and attentive, he dances well, and has very agreeable manners; why was I to snub him? By-the-bye, Grace, I wonder you could throw him over so easily." "Your friend Cissy Musgrave seems to have come out in a new character, Lucy." "In what way ?" she asked. "As a flirt. She tried it on pretty briskly with Warren." "She did; I was quite surprised to see her; and I "He submits to it very easily, it seems; but did I always fancied that she-that she didn't care for Sir not see Edward Harington dancing?" "Yes, he danced a quadrille with me; in honour of the occasion, he said." "Do you think he had no other inducement ?" asked Miss Wedderburn, slyly. "Not if I may judge by his manner." 'Why, was there anything particular in his manner ?" Charles, at any rate." "Nor does she, in my opinion. I believe she only flirted with him to pique some one else." "If it was to pique Edward Harington, it won't answer." 'Why do you think so?" "He is not the kind of man to pique, he would not understand it; he is far too simple and straight “Well, he was at no particular pains to make him- forward. Besides, Cissy is such a child, that I canself agreeable." "Indeed!" "Why are you surprised? He is only of a piece with other men." "I have never thought so," said Miss Wedderburn. "Nor I till this evening. But these lords of the creation, whom we think so superior, are not superior tomoods' any more than we poor women are. It is consoling, however, to feel oneself indifferent to them." And Cecilia yawned. Grace looked at her wonderingly. What flighty mood had come over her? Only the other day she was a child, but the woman seemed to have developed rapidly in her. “Come, Cissy,” said Grace, after a pause of a few moments, and speaking in a tone of some authority; "it is high time for us both to be in bed. I am tired myself, but I shall not leave you till I have seen that little head of yours safe on its pillow, and those weary eyes closed in slumber." The kind but decided manner was not without its effect; and Cecilia yielded at once to the gentle influence which had unconsciously swayed her since the day when, a little shy girl of eight years old, she had come to take up her abode beneath Sir Ralph Wedderburn's roof. "So it seems Miss Wedderburn didn't fancy meshe's an uncommonly handsome girl-but preferred that good-looking, penniless cousin. Ah, well, there's no accounting for tastes! Cissy Musgrave is a pretty little thing, and, I understand, has a pretty little fortune of her own; knows how to flirt too, for all she looks such a baby; but she is not so handsome as her friend-or-as Selina Charteris-though she has more animation. Poor Selina! I think she likes me, and she wouldn't make a bad wife-but she is rather insipid-and-hang it! I do like a woman with a little spirit!" Such were some of Sir Charles Warren's reflections as he drove home in the grey dawn of a July morning, after the dance at Rushington. Francis Chester's remark to his sister on their way home at about the same hour was this: not suspect her of playing at that game. No-I suppose I was mistaken "Not a bit of it," laughed Francis Chester. "I like Cissy Musgrave very much; she is a nice little thing; but, Lucy, she's not a child, and don't you fancy it." In the meanwhile, Arnold and Edward Harington, as they drove back to Oxford on that same July morning, indulged each of them in reflections which kept them silent during the greater part of the way. Arnold was the first to speak. "Well, Ned, how have you enjoyed yourself? You seem very mum." "It has been a day of surprise," he replied, evasively. "Were you prepared for the contents of the will?” "No, I was not. But you evade my question." "Candidly, then, I have not particularly enjoyed myself." "Why, what has been the mischief?" "Oh, nothing particular. A ball must always be a dull thing to me, because I don't dance." "But I saw you dancing." 'Well, I did certainly walk through a quadrille with Miss Musgrave. It was a departure from my rule, but I thought the occasion warranted it." 'Decidedly so, in my opinion. But I suppose your scruples interfered to prevent enjoyment." 'No, it was not that" able." 66 'Why, Ned, man, you are hard to please," replied Arnold, laughing. "If your Phillis dances with you, and makes herself unusually gracious, what more can you desire ?" "How do you know that she is my Phillis ?" "How do I know ?" "Well, admitting that she is, for the sake of argument; what if she makes herself equally agreeable, equally gracious to others ?" "In that case you have no particular cause to be flattered, certainly. But was it so ?" |