cerity. Lady Hester was also pale, and angry shadows stole over her narrow brow as Patricia entered, bowing politely and seating herself opposite her opponent. The superb sealskin dolman and sables, the Langtry bonnet, the lifted pince nez,

the air of vieille cour and aristocracy about her ladyship, affected Patricia not one whit. Her face flushed a little as she saw the veiled contempt of the fine slight smile. Here were birth, breeding, race, that gave perpetual brightness and sunshine, while millions toiled on in hunger, wretchedness, and despair, and dropped at last like shot stags. Spared all suffering, a path of luxury and splendour carefully guarded for them, they cared nothing for the hopes and fears and needs of the people condemned to darkness and want, provided their own caste was never encroached on, their own order never injured. Patricia at that moment understood the feelings that kindle revolutions.

'You are, of course, aware, Miss Blackmore, of these reports that have recently been circulated concerning your father,' she said, looking straight at Patricia, this time through her eyes unaided by her glass.

'We have heard them, Lady Hester, and they do not concern

us much.'

'Indeed! What Spartan heroism! or is it mere bravado? Really I admire your-what shall I call it?-pachydermatous nature. Such disgrace must have crushed me to the earth, I'm sure.'

Patricia's brain felt on fire, as the icy tones caught her ear. Polite sarcasm always acted on her like a goad. Anger and indignation were rising.

'Do you think the world is only made for such as you, then?' she asked, with an effort at self-restraint. 'Are only useless fine ladies allowed to breathe in it ?'

Lady Hester was prepared to swallow a smart dose of ill-breeding; but she had not gauged the depth of Patricia's nature. She was not a creature of nerves and impulses, like Gwendoline-fiery, emotional, vehement; she could bear pain without wincing, and when necessary offer battle.

'Your father was a convict,' said Lady Hester, applying her Krupp gun without further waste of small shot. Am I not correct?'

Patricia shivered all over, her constitutional reserve swept aside, her gentleness outraged. Then she rose, and faced Lady Hester, her lips growing whiter, her large eyes dilated.

'Seeing that it was your brother Reginald who tempted my unhappy father to his ruin, and who robbed him, profiting largely by his weakness, I think the less you say on the subject the better,' said Patricia, the spot on her cheek burning brighter and her voice deepening, all the torture of that betrayal returning with tenfold might. Whatever my father's sins-and they were great-they are surely forgiven. He never ruined any one; he was never false to friendship; he traded on no one's trust. It is the man who has escaped whom I despise !'

Her words gave Lady Hester a painful shock. She could hardly recover her self-possession; the curled lip and quietly-folded hands quivered; the tables had been turned on her in a most resolute and unexpected manner; her dearest susceptibilities had been brutally wounded.

'You are an insolent girl,' she said, looking at Patricia as if the sight of that curling lip and heightened colour riveted her gaze by magic; 'you have most misguided views on the matter.'

'No, I have not,' said Patricia coolly, because I happen to have

I took

seen your brother's letters. a copy of them before he came and possessed himself of them. If you goad us too far, if you drive my mother to desperation, I will publish them, together with an account of the honourable gentleman's biography. It will sell like wildfire, and form a pretty society tale-" An interesting and authentic Sketch from High Life !" It will reflect such glory and credit on you!'

'You dare to insult me thus to my face cried Lady Hester, shrinking under the torrent of words, but respecting Patricia infinitely more than she had ever done. There was much force of character under that quiet exterior.

'I dare to confess the truth. We owe all our misery to your family. Why should I spare you? Lady Marsden's enmity towards us had your sanction and approval. We have never sought or desired any one's acquaintance. I know what you are thinking of, and the reason for your calling; but be at rest. I have written to your son and released him.'

'Derwent cried Lady Hester, who felt the flash of those bright eyes, with their mingled anger and disdain.

'Yes, Derwent, who loves me still-who refuses to give me up, and is willing to follow me through shame, ruin! You see, I play no underhand game.

'I will control him-forbid his marriage with you. O Heavens ! that such a blight should have come upon us!' she said, falling back, breathless and exhausted, in her chair.

'We are leaving here, Lady Hester; there is no need for your fears. I am as proud as you are. I shall never seek Derwent. I can do nothing more than restore your son his freedom, and learn to forget.'

'A convict's daughter!' repeated her ladyship, as if in the presence of a new specimen of humanity, with whom contact was dangerous.

'Yes, but a gentleman, though he had to stand among a throng of criminals. There are many viler men outside a prison than in it,' went on Patricia, her expressive lips trembling with indignation. 'The villains who know how to keep within the law, and plot to ruin those they are jealous of-the men they hate, and goad to madness, while outwardly frank and kind to them. They never pause to think of the misery they cause, so long as their inclinations are gratified, their ends achieved. These are the murderers who escape hanging, but who will nevertheless one day be dragged down by the curses of their victims.'

Lady Hester rose abruptly to leave, staring at Patricia in mute surprise. This ordinarily cool, palecomplexioned, nimble fingered

Patricia, who seemed soft and nebulous as a cloud, and more interested in antimacassars than antipathies, had exhibited a fiery savageness of words and manner that discomposed her, and baffled the degradation she meant to visit on her young head.

'And there are women too,' cried Patricia, as Lady Hester advanced towards the door, 'who marry for money, never overstep society's edicts, and sell their children to the highest bidder. You are sacrificing Gwendoline.'

'I do not care to bandy words with an ill-bred girl, who is not competent to form any opinion on the matter.'

'Remember that the ache of remorse and repentance killed my father. He thought of us and the legacy of shame he left us, who loved him so dearly, and it killed him. He repented, he died brokenhearted-and your brother lives!'

The words rang in Lady Hester's ears all the way home; that allusion to Gwendoline had surprised even more than galled her, it was so daring and indiscreet.

'These foolish children cannot see their own interest,' she muttered, with a smile at Patricia's warmth; 'but I am glad I called. I have brought her to her senses. She has released Derwent, and he I will soon see the matter in a sensible light.'

No one living could be more absolutely passionless than her ladyship. If it had its disadvantages, in that others often suffered from its effect, little doubt remained that it added to her common sense and general comfort. She was not even angry with Patricia; she wished her no harm; only she should take care to extinguish Derwent's folly. A disciple of Tyndall or Huxley, examining the evolutions of a zoophyte or worm through a microscope, could not have been more indifferent to any traces of eccentricity displayed in the creatures. than Lady Hester to the writhings of those it was her business to wound. They affected her no more than burning papers a steel grate. This passionlessness is one of the chief traits of the moral vivisector.

As Lady Hester's tall thin figure vanished in the distance, Patricia, who had watched her for a few minutes in silence, threw up her hands suddenly, and fell on her knees in a burst of weeping.

'Father, father,' she sobbed, 'we forgive and bless you; but it is hard!'

Sorrow underlaid the surface of life; and Patricia, who always tried to find more to laugh at than to weep over, and invested the driest things with humour, was wearing her crown of pain with all the young strength and wisdom she

possessed. She never doubted but what Lady Hester's will would carry the day with Derwent; and she also knew that in some way or other the disappointment and the grief were curable.

At that moment a hand rested on her shoulder, and she saw Gwendoline, who had entered through the conservatory in the old familiar fashion.

'Dear, why are you so distressed?' she asked, drawing off her gloves, and throwing them down. Derwent has begged me to come and see you, but I have been prevented. I came to bid you good-bye before leaving for Italy to-morrow.'

'You are going away?' said Patricia, calming herself at once, and kissing the round young cheek, her heart leaping with joy at thisallusion to her lover's thoughtfulness; the hand-pressure and the feeling in the dark eyes told her all that she wanted to hear. 'And you have not turned against us-we who have lately been as isolated as St. Simon Stylites ?'

'I have been ill,' said Gwendoline quickly. I could not leave my room. You wouldn't think so to look at me. Turned against you? What nonsense! As if it was your fault! And even if you were a great sinner, instead of being what you are-a love-could it alter my affection?'

'May you stay with us this evening?' asked Patricia, with a grateful responsive glance; but remember, the unhappy are never very good companions.'

May I? Rather ! No one controls me now. I do and say what I like; so ran away from the packing up and Dolly, who is in tears over something; I believe she and Hugh have quarrelled lately-ran away to say good-bye to my poor old people, the children, the sea, and you,

although sometimes I don't leave the house for days together.'

'Ah!' said Patricia dryly, not altogether deceived by this mock gaiety, a masterly inactivity is the sort of thing to go in for in this world, and lots of selfishness. . . . Well, they owe you your liberty at least; they haven't shown much delicacy of feeling, I must say. Hilliard had gambling debts, of course-all army men have-and he's got into the way of paying other people's debts for them tooa bad habit; and you, without being hardened by a couple of fast seasons (I saw your face the night of the ball, and if ever a girl was in love you were then), must, for some reason or other, listen to your mother, and send him away-nearly dying yourself of fever. Poor thin little face! where have its roses gone ?'

'Worldliness, you know, is latent in all of us,' said Gwendoline slowly, as if asserting an interesting fact. Look at grandpapa; he is engaged to an actress.'

'You have been delirious, and the name on your lips night and day was not-Lionel. My dear, it cannot end well: worldly wisdom is so often a mistake-it will be the ruin of two, nay, three lives.'

Patricia was kind, even loving, but not to her could Gwendoline make any lachrymose confessions. She was no longer a child yielding to the impulse of the moment; fervour and simplicity were changed; she had resolved to be mute and make the best of things, and Patricia, for all her tact and gentleness, was too self-controlled to be quite sympathetic. The outwardly smooth surface of fashionable life must remain smooth still; all discussion was distasteful to Gwendoline.

'Only think, Pat, I'm developing a talent for tapestry-work at last,' she said, taking Patricia's

VOL. XXXI.

hand in hers; and I want you, please, to promise me never to refer again to-what cannot be helped.'

"Tapestry!' smiled Patricia; 'yes, like the work of a copying clerk, it rests one, doesn't it? and if one dreams over the Middle Ages, that also neutralises thought.'

The fever has cleared my senses very satisfactorily; it has reconciled me to tapestry, at any rate,' putting her hand to her brow. Everything is so easier now; and if we go to Italy that will complete my cure.'

much

'Will it? I'm not so sure of that-it's the place to visit if one is happy and beloved. I'd rather bear our dismal autumns, and wind-blown shores, and gray dull skies here, if the contrary were the case.'

'And I am happy and beloved,' said Gwendoline, breaking off her musing suddenly, her delicate face flushing, and every trace of nerveless dejection flown from manner. 'Don't you know you told me once I was commonplace? so I am. Let us both be commonplace, and leave sentiment alone. Is it too much to ask for some music-and tea ?'

'Music? By all means,' said Patricia,moving towards the piano; and here is something that is rather apropos, considering that you will soon make this fair land's acquaintance.' And then she sang in her clear young voice:

'Connais-tu le pays où fleurit l'oranger, Le pays des fruits d'or et des roses vermeille,

Où la brise est plus douce, et l'oiseau plus léger,

Où dans toute saison butinent les abeilles? Où rayonne et sourit comme un bienfait de Dieu

Un éternel printemps sous un ciel toujours bleu ?

Hélas, que ne puis-je te suivre vers ce rivage heureux,

D'où le sort m'exila! C'est là que je voudrais vivre, Aimer, aimer, et mourir !

DECLINED WITH THANKS.

DOLLY had never been given to tears; she hated weeping, because, in the first place, it spoilt her complexion, and, in the second, because it argued a degree of moral weakness detrimental to success. She had ever received disappointment and mortification with a lurking irony that robbed both of their sting, and could no more make a study of sorrow than of algebra. Superficial as she undoubtedly was, never addicted to even meretricious sighs and sobs, or any form of that simulated emotion which is to beauty what roulades are to a song, or the frame to a painting, she owned there were yet limits to repression and endurance, and the cruel letter she held in her hand, and had indeed bathed with

tears, was inflicting the sharpest mental gashes she had ever experienced, while dealing the most. consummate destruction to her pretty waxen bloom. It was one of those agreeable documents that extinguish hope and require no reply. It was the beginning and end, the alpha and omega of a lovecomedy that threatened after all to end in unconventional tragedy; it was the finale of a love episode, when a requiem is chanted, and Cupid is shrouded and coffined, while sorrow and rebellion avail nothing.

When Eric St. Quinten's worldliness and passion came into collision, and telescoped each other most effectually, the former triumphed, and Dolly was to be dismissed as a pleasant memory-nothing

more.

The girl, in her feeble shallow way, loved him, and also the mystery and deceit of their intrigue. That he was forbidden fruit, while she belonged to Hugh Desmond, gave the affair a piquancy and flavour delightful to her instincts. She was prepared to sacrifice everything to be his wife; but she had the prudence and foresight to retain Hugh, if only with a silken. thread, as a dernier ressort, and, while not openly breaking with him, drifted into one of those convenient lovers' quarrels men, as a rule, admire not, during which she could goad him to resign her, if necessary, if Eric, who wooed her at intervals, were really determined to make her his wife. Dolly could not understand principle, candour, loyalty; she had always trusted to artifices to save her; but the awakening had at last come, and the only consolation that presented itself was that at a glance, a word, Hugh would return to his sworn allegiance and slavery-come back, as she often laughingly told Gwendoline, like a