CHAPTER XXIX.

SIR PHILIP'S WOOING.

MARCELLETTA DOYLE had gone home, having settled in her own mind that nothing more was to be made of the Donallys. She had quite got over the slight penchant she had had for the Colonel, and was beginning to think that she had been upon the verge of doing a very foolish thing. She had much better enact the role of a dutiful daughter, and go home and obey her father. Young Lady Daly, the same who had been poor Norah Docherty's mistress, had consented to receive her for a few days on her way through Dublin. Martin Doyle was Sir Charles Daly's agent, and every one knew of the long-standing engagement between his daughter and Sir Philip Connell; and even though Marcelletta had not had the prestige of that engagement to enhance her charms and dignity, good-natured Lady Daly, whose pride was not exigeante, and who liked to see pretty faces around her, would have been very willing to receive Marcelletta Doyle as her guest.

Martin Doyle did not come up to town to meet his daughter. He was intensely fond of her, intensely anxious to see her; but he could not leave Cumlagh so long, even upon that errand; so he stayed at home and prepared for her reception, by overseeing the remodelling and painting of the whole house.

Her hostess, however, did her all due honour; she came herself to meet her at the wharf, and received her as kindly as if she had been a sister.

"Well, what do you think of her?" asked a young man, looking up from a couch where he was lounging with a book in his hands, addressing Lady Daly, who had just conducted her young guest up to her

room.

"She is more than pretty-she is beautiful; really, Connell, you are in luck. She is the very handsomest woman I ever saw."

'So far so good. Is there a large party to-day?” "No; one or two country friends of Daly's. That is all."

"I am glad of it, as I have that tiresome engagement at White's. So you really think she will do?"

"I think she is very beautiful, if that is what you mean.'

"I will go now, I think. "In the billiard-room.'

Where is Daly?"

"I will go there, then, for a few minutes. And she is so pretty, you say: well, I don't much like mere prettiness. These pretty women are always very placid and conventional. Now, I like something out of the common run; I like a woman with a dash either of something very evil or very good about her; with a strong, true nature, a keen intellect, and either that dazzling beauty that all fall down and worship, or no beauty at all. I candidly tell you, I do not expect to find my ideal in this little rustic girl, bred up in some unknown German convent."

Lady Daly laughed. "You are too fastidious. I suppose we shall see you at Lady Alsen's to-night?'

An course de, all the world will be there, and I must follow in its wake."

"You must suspend your criticism on my débutante until then."

And he

"I will. Good-bye, or rather, au revoir." lounged out of the room, to seek Sir Charles, with whom he had a long-standing intimacy rather than a close friendship.

An enchanted scene from Fairyland seemed to break suddenly upon Marcelletta Doyle as she floated in Lady Daly's wake through a struggling mass of silks and satins, blonde and broadcloth, up the crowded staircase to Lady Alsen's drawing-room, threading her way with a native grace and ease which astonished her chaperone. "There is Sir Philip Connell, dear," she said, recalling Marcelletta's attention from a tall cavalry officer with enormous moustachios, who somewhat reminded her of Colonel Donally. Marcelletta turned, with her bright, ready smile. Although she was not easily discomposed, she felt a little shy and uncomfortable, and had no very distinct recollection of Lady Daly's introduction, or of anything else, until she found herself hanging on his arm, elbowing their way to a place among the dancers.

He was not at all what she had expected him to be from her father's letters. Martin Doyle had painted his future son-in-law in anything but bright colours; and this man leaning towards her with such deferential, flattering respect, was a quiet, refined gentleman-looking like a gentleman, even amidst all the high-bred men around him. He was not exactly handsome, but he had an aristocratic, distingué look, very much the look of some one she had seen before-but where ?-she puzzled over it amid the pauses in the conversation. When the quadrille was finished, they escaped from the crowded room into the conservatory.

"How pleasant it is here-how deliciously fresh and cool," she murmured, glancing up at her partner's face.

It was distrait and troubled; and he walked on in silence, until they gained the screen of a group of large orange-trees.

"Yes, you are right; it is very pleasant here, in more ways than one. We are safe from observation. What do you think of me, Miss Doyle? You know how we have been taught to regard each other. What do you think of such arrangements?" and he smiled, anticipating some confused answer. But he was wrong for once; he had got into the hands of an experienced flirt, whose natural aptitude for coquetry was more than a match for his experience. Marcelletta drew herself up, assumed a more becoming attitude, and with a merry laugh rejoined, that she thought such engagements an act of shameful tyranny on the part of parents and guardians. And then a deep, smothered sigh fell on her companion's ear. He began to think he had made an impression. The feeling was pleasant; he looked at her again. What a beautiful face she had; what a sweet voice; what a faultless hand and arm ! He began to wish he had not been so precipitate in freeing Martin Doyle from his compact.

It was no wonder, perhaps, that when they parted for the night he carried home with him the sweet tones of her voice and the pressure of her soft white hand, and dreamt of her pink dress and floating hair. And yet he was not in love with her—he had not even what he denominated a fancy for her; but he was beginning to get interested, and to feel piqued and amused by her alternate fits of girlish abandon and womanly reserve. Next morning found him in Lady Daly's boudoir. Marcelletta, in the most becoming of morning toilettes, was seated in a fauteuil by the window, with the daintiest little foot in the world peeping from under the skirts of her embroidered dress. She bade him

good morning with a timid reserve, and joined little in the conversation, till Lady Daly, fancying she heard Sir Charles calling her, and being the most attentive wife in the world, rose and left them alone.

He drew his chair nearer to hers: "Marcelletta, Miss Doyle I should rather say, I was not frank with you last night. I allowed you to believe that the engagement between us was still subsisting, and I have now to confess that I was fool enough, before I saw you, to yield to your father's reiterated prayers that it should be given up."

He looked at her keenly the while. "If she likes me," he thought, "she will show it now."

Marcelletta, however, was a match for him. She never winced, or moved a muscle of her beautiful face, but, turning quietly round, took up an open letter that was lying on her knee. "So I have just learned from this letter-excuse me until I have finished it." She read it over carefully from beginning to end, and then, laying her little hand on his sleeve, said with bewitching candour, "I must congratulate you, Sir Philip, on your escape from such a stupid wife as I would have made you."

Sir Philip flushed a little. "You are a strange, enchanting girl," he said. "I have paid compliments to many a lady, but that cheap coin will not serve me with you. Will you believe that I can find nothing more flattering to say to you than the honest truth, that I am not sure yet whether this broken engagement will be an escape or a great misery?"

She laughed merrily; not displeased-even a little flattered. She already began to see that matters would end as she wished, and she was confident in her own powers, satisfied with her position, and almost sure of her new conquest; so she began to talk brilliantly and