Laura tried to be indifferent; but she could not prattle in the old way, and she wondered to herself if it would be very wrong to have out their trouble, like children, before saying good-bye. She was quite a child in some things, and she felt conscious of no sinfulness in this clinging grief at separation. "If I had been like Prissy, I should have made a great fuss, and papa would have stayed," she said, artlessly. "Prissy always gains her point."

"Ah!" Perry answered, in a tone of reproach, "you would have gained your point, too, had you cared enough about it." She looked troubled and changed colour; the corners of the sweet mouth turned down, the long soft eyelashes grew moistened with tears.

"I did care about it," she began; "it is very unkind of you to say that."

The sight of her tears moved Perry to instantaneous penitence, and in his penitence he said a dozen unwise things. He said that if it had not been for Laura he should have sunk within the last few weeks into an abyss of degradation; that it was she, and none other, who had saved him hitherto, and she was going to desert him now; that, having lost all hope in the world, her friendship was still dear and valuable to him, and he did not know how he should be able to live without it.

Then, seeing Laura's innocent face so moved by his words, he forgot the duty he owed to himself and to her, and went on, alternately raving, confiding, approving, till her senses were in a whirl.

In this stage of their infatuation they reached the distracting Bureau des Omnibus, in the Palais Royal. Perry took Laura's ticket, number thirty-two, and they sat down, hoping thirtytwo would not be called yet. Perry drummed with his fingers on the hard cover of the bouquin; Laura looked steadily another way.

A French Bureau des Omnibus is a pandemonium, indeedonly that the devils are very harmless and rather melancholylooking Frenchmen, in official costume, But how they torment

and terrify the unfortunate public who travel by omnibus!

If

in a hurry, you are as a mouse in the claws of two or three imperturbable cats; and if you are complacent, you are worried just the same.

Laura and Perry heard nothing but the beating of their own hearts, and the numbers as called out by the conductor.

The two omnibuses had filled, and the last number called had been twenty-nine. Surely Laura's turn would come very soon. They listened for the signal of parting-dreading it, longing for it, with a sort of self-preserving instinct.

A third omnibus drew up, and whilst an eager crowd pressed to the door, the conductor proclaimed two vacant places. "Trente."

Number thirty took his seat.

"Trente-un."

Number thirty-one took his seat. The door was closed, the omnibus filed of, and Laura and Perry breathed again. When at last the signal was given-Trente-deux-Laura rose in extreme discomposure. "Give me my ticket; the place is for me," she cried.

"You will come back to us before very long?" he asked, in the way of one who exacts a promise.

"Yes," she answered, flushing and faltering.

"A voiture, mademoiselle, s'il vous plait," cried the conductor, at the top of his voice, and Perry handed her in. As the heavy vehicle was driving off, he got a last look and a last word, and both of them told him what he felt he ought not to know.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

WHAT DEAD SEA APPLES TASTE OF.

Ir was only natural that Laura's disturbed mood should be imputed to the coming separation from her friends, Mrs Cornford and Vittoria, and Dr Norman and Prissy did their very best to inspire her with cheerfulness. Prissy had never been

to the Rue de Trévise, and Dr Norman only once or twice; so that the probable share Perry might have in Laura's reluctance to leave Paris never once occurred to them. Laura, therefore, escaped the sarcasm that would have been hardest to bear.

For Prissy was a terrible little satirist, without any idea of moderation where a possible witticism was concerned. She kept a sharp eye upon all poor Laura's weak points, and lashed her severely when any of them led her into the committal of folly.

"Look at Laura's queer old book, papa!" she cried, as Laura quietly deposited the bouquin of hard hide upon the table. "Who gave it to you?"

"Monsieur Puig," said Laura; "he is a very clever political writer, and is engaged to marry Vittoria Bianchi."

Prissy took up a corner of her apron, and, thus armed, opened the bouquin gingerly.

"It's a very dirty old thing," she said. "Is Monsieur Pig".

66

Puig," said Laura, impatiently.

"Is Monsieur Puig a little dirty too?"

Dr Norman could not forbear a laugh at Laura's expense. "I am afraid we can't answer for our friends in the Rue de Trévise on that score, Laura. They love art better than soap and water."

"O papa!"

"You can't deny, my dear, that it's not alone Monsieur Puig's inky shirt, or Mademoiselle Vittoria's wristbands, that bear out my statement. Mrs Cornford, whom I respect from the bottom of my heart, certainly likes water as little as a land-rat, and Mr Perugino-well, Mr Perugino-must I say it, Laura-Mr Perugino won't be driven into marrying his laundress because her bill is too heavy to pay."

For a minute or two Laura was speechless from indignation. "I would rather see people a little careless in those things than wrapped up in their own affairs, and living without ideas."

"But does it follow that one cannot be clean and clever too? What a little casuist you are where your friends are concerned."

"I'm sure if there are any mice in Mrs Cornford's house, Laura loves them better than she does us two, papa," Prissy said, looking up from the bouquin, which contained some quaint woodcuts; adding, "Oh! what a queer book for Mr Pig to give you, Laura: I have seen three pictures of the devil in it!”

'Why do you look at it, then?" Laura cried, in a fit of childish passion; "and you know it isn't true what you say about the mice, Prissy. Papa, it is very unkind of Prissy to talk in that way."

"We didn't mean to be uncivil, and we beg your pardon, my dear, don't we, Prissy?" said Dr Norman, kindly

Then Laura burst into tears. Dr Norman hastened to his own room, and Prissy became penitent in a moment.

"It's a dear book-a sweet book," she said, hugging the bouquin in her arms, and kissing her sister. "And you might know I was in fun about the mice, Laura, dear."

The little squabble passed over; but, absent as Dr Norman habitually was, he noticed all that day Laura's pale looks and quick uneasy glances. She turned red and white without any cause, started at the merest sound, and her eyes never for a moment lost a certain lustre that was new to them. When night came, and they were alone, he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself.

"My dear Laura," he said, "it is childish of you to think that I shall let you go on with us now."

Laura stood aghast.

"I don't want to make you miserable, of course. At first sight, it seemed most likely that you should be happier with your father and little sister than with any friends, but there is no deciding for others, and I have always desired you to decide for yourself. You can, therefore, stay."

"Papa," Laura began, with a sob, "I know you are vexed with me

"Never mind me," Dr Norman said, a little impatiently; "I can't expect you to think as I do in everything, and you are not a baby. You must begin to decide for yourself. You Good; I accept your decision."

decide to stay.

And with that he left her.

Poor Laura! she warred between two longings-the longing to make Perry's life happier, and the longing to be dutiful to her father. One minute she was saying to herself that she would only stay a little time in Paris, and not desert Dr Norman after all; another, she was contriving all sorts of plans for Perry's comfort. Meantime, she saw her luggage separated from the rest; she heard the order given for a carriage next morning to drive Monsieur and Mademoiselle to the Rue de Trévise; she watched her father's and Prissy's cloaks and umbrellas put in the railway, with a vague feeling that she must be going too. But she was not going. From the time of interchanging that secret compact with Perry up till now, she had never once doubted the sweet selfish creed of youthful passion to be a true one. She relied so uncompromisingly for the time upon any judgment stronger than her own, that, had she gone to a third oracle, she would have fallen down before it, and again surrender her opinion. Believing Perry to be wrong and her father to be right, what course was left open to her but to cleave to the one and forsake the other? Could she give up Perry? Could she give up her father and Prissy?-for Prissy, being her sister, she felt that she ought to love her almost as well as those two. Laura did not sleep very well that night, and longed for the morning, which must put some sort of end to her miserable indecision. Once or twice she consoled herself by recalling Perry's looks and words, though shyly, and with the feeling that such selfindulgence was wrong. Who could have imagined that her dream would ever come true?-for Laura, like other young girls, had had her dreams. She smiled to herself, thinking how sweet and good it was to be cared for by any one like Perry. The thought of his passion for Kitty bore no bitterness with it, for she felt childishly sure that she herself was something to him now. The first streak of light seemed to smite all happy and peaceful thoughts like a cold sword-blade. The poor child started up, and put her hair from her face, crying to herself, distractedly, "What shall I do-oh! what shall I do?"