world, and her old friends and habits were left behind. Mr. Seton did not approve of Emily Clayton; and although Linda only cared for her because she had known her from childhood, her occasional companionship would have been pleasant now during the long day which Mr. Seton generally spent in his office in the city.

Every day Linda practised her music for two hours; her husband made it a point of honour with her to observe the time rigidly. Nearly every day, too, there was music to be copied; for Mr. Seton was a great lover of music, and himself played the violin. Linda hated copying music, and sometimes wondered why she should be so troubled, when they were rich enough to buy it ready printed; but stifling this as an ungrateful thought, she did her best to copy it neatly. Then there were certain standard works to be read, also for a stated time daily. Thiers' "Consulate" was to be studied in connection with Gibbon's "Decline and Fall." She read these diligently, wishing

she was more intellectual to appreciate such excellent works; and on these studies her husband's conversation turned during the daily drive. Linda would often remember a book at home, called "Evenings at Home," wherein a highly educated parent, acquainted with every science and history, past, present, and to come, answers leading questions put by his precious offspring, whose thirst for knowledge is as insatiable as it is evidently hereditary,-and think how similar these dialogues were to those. They went to many parties, and entertained their great acquaintances in return. But these were dreary ceremonials to the girl; once or twice she had been seated at dinner by a lively young bachelor, and had, naturally enough, preferred talking to him than to the respectable elderly gentleman, who by right of his years and wealth had taken her downstairs. Mr. Seton was not jealous, he assured her; but he begged her to remember that, as his wife, it was desirable for her to cultivate men who

might be good business connections; and Linda, fearing she had shown great levity, meekly promised to remember his injunction.

Mr. Seton's most intimate friend was a gentleman in his own business, and about his own age. This gentleman-Mr. Mowlam, had acted as best man at the wedding, and had ever since been a frequent visitor in Hyde Park Gardens: he played the flute, and like his host, was a scientific performer, and carefully eschewed all music that had any time in it. These gentlemen never tired of hearing themselves execute tedious "movements in B," and "Studies on Symphony," making poor · Linda, whose taste was decidedly for light and lively melodies, keep subordinate accompaniment on the pianoforte. The only break in these long practisings being the one, two, three, of Mr. Seton's fiddlestick counting for Linda's benefit, and the screwing up and down of his fiddle strings. When a string broke she got a little rest, which was appreciated;

it was lucky her husband never guessed how much more musical to his wife's ears was the snapping of that string than his scientific grinding at his scientific numbers.

Yet

Linda believed herself to be a very fortunate girl, notwithstanding all these drawbacks, and not yet, even for an instant had she repented of her marriage. By-and-by she would tell herself, when she was older she would be happier still, when she no longer felt in awe of her servants, nor oppressed by the grand gloom of her large rooms. She was quite aware that she was a goose to fear her servants. she did fear them, and dare not even ask them for her own at unreasonable hours. With her· young, healthy appetite-that of a still growing girl, the time between the punctual nine o'clock breakfast and the half-past one luncheon was too long for her to fast; but cake and biscuits were locked up with the dessert by the butler. So in the midst of plenty she often starved, because she feared to appear greedy.

Every morning at ten o'clock Mr. Seton drove to the city, and Linda, attended by her maid—a sedate, elderly person, walked in the gardens on which her house opened, for one hour. Mrs. Shrugg had wisely chosen her daughter should not take one of her mother's servants to her new home. She knew what an inducement that would have been for mistress and maid to become familiar. And Linda, in consequence, regarded her attendant as another formidable stranger, and even hesitated to assert her own taste in dress when Mrs. Marsh superintended her toilette. Luckily the woman was as honest as she was prim, and instead of taking advantage of her inexperienced mistress, did her best to deserve the trust reposed in her. The walk over, Linda had her book and practising to attend to, and to sit in the great, grand drawing-room, to receive visitors that great, magnificent room, where Linda dare not move a chair, nor draw up a blind, nor leave her work about,