the accumulation of chagrin that he could not shake off. He would fain have shut up every recollection of her in the most secret recess of his mind till she was again by his side. He could not bear that his children and servants should see what he suffered, and made an errand to London, thereby hoping to bridge over the absence that he hoped, but did not feel quite sure, would end well.

CHAPTER XVI.

IN PARIS.

It is spring-time in Paris,-the ever gay, ever gracious, ever youthful city. What a Barmecide's feast is always spread there for the hungry! How the merry tunes strike upon weary ears! How victoriously the carriage wheels of the rich dash along the streets, driving the meanly clad and the Bohemians into the gutters!

Kitty was one of the victorious ones now, and leaned back in Myra's carriage, as if soft cushions, obsequious lacqueys, and high-stepping bays had been everyday things with her, from her childhood upwards. It was quite wonderful how prosperity, in any shape, seemed to fit her like a glove. She grew plumper and prettier with every new phase of it, and sometimes looked at herself in the glass, saying, "Can it be my old self, Kitty Silver, now so amiable and youthful, and pleasant to look at my old, thin, sallow, soured, sharptongued self?"

Myra had come to Paris in a pet with some relations at home, and had skilfully managed to bring her new friend. with her. The matter, as may be well imagined, had been one of great difficulty. For Dr Norman had not readily yielded, either to Myra's obvious little by-play, or to Kitty's apologetic and insinuating artifices. He was eventually worsted, of course; what man is not worsted in a contest with women? but he had not yielded with the best grace in

the world. His disappointment had been bitter, and his anger quiet, though deep. How it would all end, neither he nor Kitty could tell in their heart of hearts. They had hardly quarrelled; they had certainly not parted with any understanding that the parting was to be more than temporary; yet time, as it wore on, seemed to divide them more and

more.

They wrote to each other still. It was so easy to write friendly letters, about the children, and old times and happy days that were to repeat themselves by and by; and, without touching on delicate ground, such letters seemed safe, and were perhaps consolatory.

Kitty blamed Myra for her own apparent shortcomings; it was always Myra, who would persist in keeping her away; Myra, who wanted her all to herself. Myra was represented as the tempter and delinquent from the beginning to the end. And Dr Norman tried to believe that it was so.

The life she was leading could hardly have been more pleasant. She was running the giddy round of vain delights all day long; living in a world made up of Gounod's music, drives, dinners, fashionable talk, and everything else that was light, graceful, and sparkling.

How she loved it all! the constant business of doing nothing, the interminable repetition of pleasure and fatigue, the long luxurious sleeps on lace-bordered pillows.

She was not, however, wholly free from disturbing retrospections and dreams. She could hardly forget the vagabond life in Fulham, the unvarying kindness of Shelley House, and the two men she had promised to marry. Moreover, she did not want to spend all her life with Myra, and was conscious of new ambitions, and new powers of attaining them.

She recalled her early years with alternate sighs of self-commiseration and complacency. In those times it had been a red-letter day, a shower of sugar plums, to walk to the theatre, sit in the pit, and return home in an omnibus. She had gone to some of the smaller theatres thus, and nothing could have been gayer. Occasionally, there had been amateur representa

tions by Perry's friends, concluding with cheap, noisy, deliciously unwholesome little suppers behind the scenes.

The company had not been refined; conversation was not strictly limited to such subjects as are discussed in a drawingroom; manners had been a little free and easy; yet Kitty owned to herself that she was not living amongst better people now. Those light-hearted, free-thinking, free-talking friends of Bohemia, had sadly neglected going to church, and many outward conventionalities; but how full to overflowing were they of the charity that thinketh no evil, a thing Kitty now heard of every Sunday! She marvelled how she could have existed so long in what now seemed to her a social heathendom. Kitty was learning new lessons in etiquette every day, and, it must be confessed, went through the task in a tractable spirit. She learned that it was disreputable to read a shabby novel with one's feet on the fender, to blacken one's fingers with roasting chestnuts, to walk out in wet weather, to eat penny ices to do a hundred and one things as natural to one of her bringing up, as cracking nuts to young gorillas. She must neither eat, drink, laugh, nor talk in the old way, nor live to the old merry tune. Every act of daily life must now be set as it were to the slowest time, and such setting is not learned in a day.

Kitty proved an apt pupil, and soon became an adept in the art of treating people exactly according to their deserts-a very difficult art, by the way-and one only understood by those who dwell within the precincts of Vanity Fair.

Her little craft just newly rigged, none gayer than Kitty as she set out alone on high seas. She feared neither shoals nor storms; how should she, having such infinite trust in herself, who acted alike the part of pilot and steersman? She felt that she could afford to be gay, having hitherto waged successful war with the world-having proved herself in many a fight, a feminine Bayard, sans peur et sans reproche. What astonished her hourly and daily, was her own popularity. She was popular with all the world-with the young, with the old, with the beautiful, and with the ugly. How did this come to pass?

mortification, and would feel that she could never trust anybody again. Oh! what chance of peace was hers with so many retributions hanging over her head?

She was compelled to take one decisive step, however, which helped her to temporary peace. She could no longer keep Myra in ignorance as to her engagement. One morning, therefore, she set off in the snow, and found Myra eating her breakfast in her dressing-gown.

"Welcome, you little goose!" Myra cried, far too indolent. to rise from her chair; "don't kiss me-I'm eating honeybut sit down, and Tom-tom shall bring you some tea."

Kitty kissed her dearest friend in spite of the command, and before she took off her cloak or tasted her tea, broke out with an explosive

"I have promised to marry Dr Norman !"

Myra was one of those provoking persons who are never surprised at the right moment.

'I expected as much," she said, quite indifferently; "women can't help being fools, I suppose."

"You would think me a fool if I married him?" Kitty asked.

"That's quite out of the question. You can't do it, you mustn't do it, you won't do it."

"But I have promised."

"What could induce you to make such a promise? You are not a domestic person-the idea of having five step-children did not tempt you; Dr Norman is not the man for a clever woman like you to fall in love with-his position is not worth

the sacrifice."

“You amuse me immensely when you talk in that strain," Kitty said, laughing. "You forget that I am nobody." "You are a woman," Myra answered.

"Well!"

"That is a very unnecessary well;' you must know that a woman who is young, and clever, and handsome, is a power in society."

"I don't know that. It is not for either of those reasons

that Dr Norman likes me well enough to marry. It is because I am kind to the children, and a pleasant piece of furniture in the house. If I were a mean-looking little person with a snub nose, it would have been the same."

"Not quite, my dear Kitty; you don't at all know the proportionate value of things in the world. You think a great deal too much of the relative worth of money."

"I suppose all poor people do."

"But experience ought to make you wiser. Who is most admired and sought after when I have a house full of people -you or I?"

"Yourself, naturally."

"I may appear to be so; but you have wit enough to see how much of this adoration is but skin-deep. Why," and here Myra broke into a little laugh, "you are like the rest of the world; you would not take half so much pains to please me if it were not that I am rich."

"You are arguing on my side now," Kitty said, taking up Myra's little hand and pressing it, by way of deprecating the cutting speech.

66

'No, I am not. I want you to see the difference between the homage that falls to my share and the homage that falls to yours. People fawn upon me, and flatter me, and I don't always dislike it, but I would ten times rather be you. Everybody admires you, everybody adores you; and for these reasons: It is a pleasure to look at you, it is a pleasure to listen to you, it is a pleasure to be liked by you. Nobody cares for my company as much as for yours. Taking all this into consideration, you must be acting like a child to marry the first man who proposes to you. You should wait."

"I don't quite see the use of waiting. I have no godmother to make me her heiress. I shall not grow more attractive as I grow older."

"Place yourself in my hands: I will use your brains, and you shall use my money."

"But, Myra, I have given my word, and Dr Norman really cares for me. What am I to do?"