CHAPTER XIV.

ON Miss Sparrow's return from Brighton, she behaved most kindly to her niece, but fully concurred with Mrs. Erskine in thinking it best that she should go back to Millthorpe Grange, and from there, if possible, to Grainthorpe. It was more cheerful for Georgy to spend her few remaining days with the Erskines, and she would not hear of her niece's removing to her own dull house. Miss Sparrow had a habit of talking to herself occasionally, and went on: "Yes, dear, yes; it would be a very nice thing: only, of course, you are too reasonable."

"What!" exclaimed Georgy, whose thoughts were running upon the expense of journeys, and thinking how, if she went to Millthorpe Grange, and a reconciliation took place, she must return to Grainthorpe. Journeying back to her aunt's would be so expensive.

"I could not help the other day wishing that you

should marry James Erskine: Mr. Erskine, I suppose, I ought to say: more unlikely things have happened," she said, knowingly: "I think he likes you very much; though perhaps I am foolish for telling you so. I wish people did not always think to much about money."

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Why should they not?" returned Georgy, laughing constrainedly. "I do not know that Mr. Erskine has any intentions of marrying any one at present, either rich or poor."

"My dear, you are not vexed, are you?"

"No; of course not, aunt," she replied, regaining her old manner.

"Ah, Georgy, little girls sometimes think of such things, though they will not own it!"

And when Georgy left her aunt, she did think about it, though not of it: that was an impossibility. Her aunt's words went for nothing; but they had tortured her. Oh! she was poor; yet in her own heart she boldly compared herself to Gertrude Stanley, of whom she knew that it was Mrs. Erskine's darling dream that she should marry her son. Miss Stanley was rich and beautiful, but take away the money, and Georgy could hold her ground against Miss Stanley; but for herself to marry James, would, in a worldly point of view for him, be folly. Just then poverty seemed to her

to express annihilation, and she thought of the words of Faust's Margaret:

"Nach Golde drängt

Am Golde hängt

Doch Alles! Ach wir Armen!"

Many a one has thought that; and not always in direct selfishness. Mothers fancy that money will smooth the evils of life for their children. Money, money! will buy love even, think some, who are cold to their inmost hearts for lack of it.

It is a sad, sordid calculation; and a very cowardly one, no doubt. But forgive it, you who estimate money more truly-you who prize more highly the free gift of your love. So much magnanimity is not always wisdom acquired, but immunity from the need of wisdom.

Two days before Mrs. Erskine and Georgy left London, they went to the ball. This great ball was an event for Georgy, who knew nothing of London. Alice and her daughters had arrived, and Mrs. Erskine was bent upon finding them. They struggled up the great staircase, and got through the crowd into the centre room, where there was no dancing, but only a tumultuous passing to and fro. To Georgy, who knew no one, the crowd, the lights, and the confusion, were the only definite impressions which she received at first; then presently she became aware of flowers, and that the

room opened into a long narrow conservatory full of bright plants; and then, that if they escaped the risk of being trampled upon in their present position, they might be deafened, for they were close to the orchestra.

Mrs. Erskine was talking eagerly, but did not forget Georgy, to whom she introduced a fragile very young gentleman, who asked her to dance. The crowd was too great to render dancing very pleasant, so they walked about, and the young gentleman pointed out to his companion the notabilities; she soon began to take an interest in the bystanders. The crushing dance was over, and Georgy, standing again by Mrs. Erskine, was still talking to her companion: he was dilating to her on the fatigues and responsibilities which going out entailed; and she was answering him with rather ludicrous gravity, trying how long he would remain unconscious of her impertinent simplicity! Mr. Erskine came behind her, and presently inquired, "how she dared to 'chaff' her young friend so openly?"

"He likes me very much," she maintained.

"He is a 'Parti,' do you know?"

"Well, he has a great deal in him; as I, and all prudent ladies can tell.”

The Stanleys just then came up, and Mr. Erskine presently went off to dance with Miss Stanley.

Gertrude Stanley was beautiful; it was not too strong a word to use as you looked for the first time upon that splendid mass of womanhood-tall and largely built, but well-proportioned. They said she needed fining down, and would look better if she grew thinner. But they were mostly envious women, whose figures depended upon the make of their dresses. She was beautiful, with her rich glowing complexion and look of perfect health, her profusion of brown hair, her bright hazel eyes, and her regular profile. It was an amount of positive beauty seldom seen; the form and the colour incontrovertibly perfect. She had about the same original capacity as her brother; and, though not belonging to that class of whom it may be said that it would be a positive blessing if they could not read, still a little wholesome neglect and deficiency in education would have improved her.

Georgy sat a long while by herself. For some time Mr. Erskine and Miss Stanley were opposite to her she liked to watch them; for she never felt at rest if he were not near her, till she knew to whom he was talking. She watched these two people without jealousy. Mrs. Erskine, she was sure, would like Gertrude to marry her son, and Georgy's thoughts flew rapidly to that conclusion, without the pang which the thought of his marriage sometimes gave. Gertrude was enunciating some piece of