from time to time. "Here is the menu,-this fine flowery thing with all the break-jaw words in it, you know. What is to be? You say, and I'll get whatever it is. What about that bird with its great long feathers all over the table? What do you say to it? Fine feathers make fine birds, you know; let's go in for the bird, you and I.”

Or, "Here are peaches done up in wet cotton-wool? Oh, it's called a blang-mange-whatever that may be. The blang-mange seems to have been in a mill down-stairs, and got the worst of it."

Or, "I wonder when we are to get some cake? The bride has got to cut the cake, you know; I wish she would remember that we have had it staring us in the face for the last hour and a half, and that human nature can't stand much more. The smell of it is good enough; but I think we'll all agree that smell without taste isn't everything."

With such pleasantries his companion was entertained; but although no more of Mademoiselle's partner and ally is here worth recording, we shall find him coming to the front again by-and-by, for he and his neighbour made such friends over their long-tailed bird, and their blang-mange, that on meeting each other again five years afterwards, and finding that she was then in want of another situation, he procured for her one which met every requirement.

Her pupil was a cousin of his own, wealthy, orphaned, and requiring tuition on divers points unconnected with literature. Mademoiselle Pierrepoint could be of assistance socially as well as intellectually; and so well did Mademoiselle suit the young lady's taste, and that of her guardians, that no gratitude was too much for the relation who had procured for them such a treasure.

Now Grubber was poor, and lazy, and very vulgar; by no merits of his own could he have pushed his way in the world; but this one kind action, this remembering and interesting himself in the acquaintance of an hour, since she had come to his rescue at a pinch, proved, as will presently be told, to be the making of his fortune. Let no one undervalue good-nature.

To return, however, to Carnochan, en fête.

However much chagrined inwardly by the defalcation of her son, Lady Olivia was sufficiently mistress of herself to hear the tidings with outward composure, and to check, by the power of her eye alone, the torrent of angry abuse which

Pollaxfen would have given the world to have dared to pour forth.

She suspected that Rupert had thrown up his engagement in disgust, and she was hardly surprised, and not at all indignant, that he had done so. Closer approach to the man, as whose associate he was to appear, had shown him Pollaxfen in his true colours; and recollecting the boots, the nails, and the yawns, Lady Olivia shuddered to reflect on what those colours must have appeared.

She ought never to have let the bridegroom be seen; she should have prevented his going to London at the outset ; and she bitterly took herself now to task for not having been able to hold out a little longer, and to keep him to herself, and to those who had already been undeceived, rather than be quit of his odious presence at the expense of enlightening Evelyn.

"I told you how it would probably be," she now undauntedly averred. "My son is not to be depended upon. He has his own friends, and his own engagements. That he agreed to your request at first showed his willingness to oblige, but you must recollect my warning you not to reckon on his being able to carry all his intentions into performance. He seldom does."

"I can

No warning of the kind had ever been given, but since there was no question but what she had said a good many things on which no heed had been bestowed, the unlucky Pollaxfen could not now, he felt, "tick her off." "If he had told me slap out" he began. But this would never do. He must not look like that, nor speak like that. People would notice. "I understand," said Lady Olivia, in her blandest tones. quite understand, believe me, my dear Harold. been an inconvenience, but we will not now regard it. You have done so well, retrieved your position so excellently. Mr Shangles has been an admirable substitute, I am sure; and he has only had to take charge of our school-girl Kate, for whom it does not in the least matter,"-she could not resist the taunt; "and your other friend is quite happy with Mademoiselle."

It has

He had to

He was not allowed even to look annoyed. sit up by Alice's side, and make his speech, and bow and smirk, as though everything were going exactly as he would have it; and conscious that he was smarting under the de

struction of his most cherished hopes, that he had failed in every essential point of his so-called success, he had yet to enact the joyous bridegroom, drink healths, swallow banter, and carry off his blooming fair one, as though not a ripple stirred to break the harmony of the hour.

Not a single word could he edge in of what he had resolved to say.

"It was Rupert all over," pronounced Lady Olivia afterwards. "He never meant to come from the beginning; he must only have said 'Yes' because he did not know what other answer to make. He is really too soft-hearted. I have no doubt that Harold was absurdly tiresome and pressing as he always is-and would not let my poor boy alone. Rupert cannot bear to be run after. Certainly, it would have been better for him to have put down the suggestion at once, to have let us all understand what we were about, for we were quite taken in as it was. But, upon my word, I cannot blame him, although I—I who know my son so well,-I was as much deceived as any! Well, it does not signify now; and I think I can answer for it, Kate, that when you and I go to Town presently, we shall not be treated by this negligent young man as poor Harold Pollaxfen has been!"

But the smile of confidence died away from the parent's lips as she opened the envelope in her hand.

She had not noticed, as she was speaking, that it was directed in the handwriting of her son, and the intelligence it contained was enough to make her grave on the instant.

Evelyn was about to join the troops which were on the eve of departure for the East; and as he had only twentyfour hours wherein to get ready, he stated succinctly that he should not be able to take leave of any one.

LADY OLIVIA IS RESOLVED THAT KATE SHALL BE
SEEN AND ADMIRED AT LAST.

It was on the brightest of bright May days, exactly five years after the events recorded in the last chapter, that there drove up to the door of a house in a well-placed London street, a train of railway cabs, piled up and brimming over with all the paraphernalia of a family arriving from the country.

The first person of note to descend and be received by officious attendants was an elderly lady, somewhat wan and disordered by travel, whose weary air contrasted with the sprightly chatter and springing steps of the two younger ones who followed, and who, as they looked around them, noting this and that, with smiles on their rosy, pretty faces, showed that they were neither too tired nor too dusty for present cheerfulness.

It is Lady Olivia Newbattle, with the two daughters who now alone remain under her maternal wing, upon whom our curtain thus again draws up.

They are not the two youngest, as most people would suppose, there are nearly six years between them, though there does not look one.

"Indeed, many people would imagine that Marjorie is the older of the two," averred her step-mother; "and that is the reason why I mean to bring her out at once. She is at her very best now; in another few years, it is quite possible that she may grow coarse. You, my dear Kate," for Kate was the auditor on this occasion,-"you will never look coarse; your beauty is quite of another order. But being as it is, we will not put off. Think how unlucky we were about you! First, your health putting a stop to my taking you out after poor dear Alice's marriage; the next year, our losing her was the cause; again, I was unwell myself-it was really most unfortunate; and then our deep mourning, necessitating two years' strict seclusion. You yourself advocated that, my love, and very right you were. But you see how it all was,-how it was really impossible for me to carry out my intentions; and I should have had endless cause for regret, even had I been unable to reproach myself, had your bloom faded, or had our circumstances been altered. As it is, however, seeing you as I do, not only with unimpaired, but really improved looks, strong, well, and most excellently provided for-thanks to your dear father," lifting her handkerchief," indeed, by your poor sister's death, holding a position that you had not before,-I feel, I really do feel, my dear Kate, that whatever may have been our sorrows and vexations, all is now for the best. You feel the same, I am sure; it is quite a reward for your not fretting and making an outcry, as most girls would have done in your place. Now is your day as much as Marjorie's. Now everything is convenient, our affairs are in good order, we ourselves hale and hearty; and now, therefore, I intend to have the pleasure of introducing to the world both my lovely daughters at once."

Times were indeed changed since she stigmatised them as her unruly crew.

They were now her dearest children, her kind Kate, and her sweetest Marjorie; and since she had only the two to look after, she was once again ready to trumpet herself as on the brink of that perfect felicity which was for ever, poor soul, within view, yet for ever eluding her grasp.

Let us, however, take a brief survey of what had hap