Prissy, who slept in a little bed close by, was also awake early, for the journey to Frankfort, and from thence up the Rhine, had numberless excitements for her.

"Do let us get up, Laura," she said; "we are going to Germany, where the people eat pumpernickel. Oh! I am so glad!"

66

'Why should we get up yet?" Laura asked, wearily. "There is nothing to do.”

"You haven't three dolls' clothes to put away, and a tea-set, and I don't know what besides. It's all very well for you to lie in bed, Laura, but it won't do for me."

And thereupon Prissy jumped out of bed, wrapped herself in a dressing-gown, and, opening the door an inch wide, called

out

"Garçon, de l'eau chaude, toute de suite, s'il vous plait." "How absurd!" said Laura.

up at this hour?"

"Who do you think will be

Then she turned her head on the pillow, and dozed a little ; and when she awoke again the sun was shining brightly, and Prissy had gone away. She got through the business of her toilette after a very listless fashion; and when it was done, sat down, not having courage to join her father and Prissy down-stairs. At last Prissy came running to say that breakfast was ready, and that they were waiting for her.

"And really, Laura, your unpunctuality is something dreadful," she added, with a mock assumption of authority.

"Has Laura told you that you and I are to go on our travels alone?" asked Dr Norman of Prissy, as they sat down to table.

Papa!" cried Prissy, looking from one to the other with inexpressible dismay.

Dr Norman went on with assumed cheerfulness—

"Of course it is a great disappointment, but disappointing things must be made the best of. Only remember that we shall expect to hear from you regularly, Laura."

"I will not stay here if you think it wrong, papa "

"My dear child, it is a little late to refer the question to me

now. Having decided for yourself yesterday that you could not leave Paris, by all means act upon that decision "

"But indeed-indeed I want to do what you wish," began poor Laura.

"And indeed I want you to please yourself; so that we might go on all day begging the question. The simplest solution of the difficulty is to try your new friends, and come back to the old when you are tired of them."

Prissy broke into passionate deprecations of Laura's ingratitude, which Dr Norman checked, and the little party finished breakfast as if nothing had happened.

Laura's heart had given a great bound at the final assurance that her promise to Perry was to be kept; but after that first revulsion of feeling she could only think of her father, and of the secret she was withholding from him.

Dr Norman bade her say good-bye to Prissy, and hurried her off in his usual absent, pre-occupied way, with a little, though very little, show of vexation.

Arrived at their destination, they found everybody in bed; and as Dr Norman had to catch an early train, and had no particular desire to see Mrs Cornford, he scribbled a hasty letter, commending Laura to her care and protection for the next three or four weeks. He enclosed in the letter a banknote for Laura's expenses during the time, and, after reiterating his request that she should write very often, he kissed her and went away.

By and by Mrs Cornford came out of her room to open the shutters and light the fire, in dressing-gown and slippers. She received Laura and Laura's explanation of herself with the sort of unmitigated surprise that is sure to imply reproach.

"That's exactly what I expected of you, you dear little fool!" she said. Well, God made one as well as t'other, as the man said who had a wart on his nose. Where you'll sleep I haven't the least idea, unless in the wood-cupboard; but never mind; you're here, and when we make a pudding ourselves, we ought to eat it without making faces. But I did give Dr Norman credit for knowing better. Well, we'll see

what he says for himself. Poor man! who would be a widower with children growing up, I wonder? And what a sum he sends for your bread and butter! Why, child, he must think you have the appetite of the man who ate a leg of mutton at a meal; but your papa is just the man to get imposed upon, and wants as much looking after as a baby. Why ever didn't"

She broke off from her sentence, for, impudent though she was, she never linked the names of Kitty and Dr Norman together in Laura's hearing.

Laura took off her bonnet and cloak with a very disconcerted air, feeling convicted of folly. But would not Perry say something kind and comforting?

CHAPTER XXIX.

AT FONTAINEBLEAU.

WHILST Perry had been trying to ruin himself, body and mind, in which course sweet Laura's love seemed to stay him a little -whilst Dr Norman went his quiet ways, sad and puzzled over many things-what was Kitty doing? Where was this goddess of theirs, whose favoured lover must be, as they thought, a king among common men?

Kitty was at Fontainebleau-no farther-enjoying to the full the delicious perfection of summer-time there, wanting no new lovers, troubled now and then for the old, troubled also about some other things, but not too troubled to be her gay, bewitching, animating self. It was astonishing how strongly she possessed the power of enjoying, and of imparting the same power, though in a similar degree, to others. It is so with all forcible natures; idiosyncracies emanate from them as light from luminous bodies.

They had made up a little party, to which Kitty stood in much the same sort of relationship as a conductor to his orchestra, holding herself responsible for every discord, Of

course she succeeded admirably. She got up the most perfect little picnics without apparent trouble. The morning would be brilliant, the men would put on alpaca coats, the ladies muslin dresses, and open carriages would drive up exactly when they were ready, and carry them to the beautiful woods, where they had strawberries and cakes and champagne, and enjoyed everything without reservation.

Then there were little dinners and breakfasts, musical parties, sketching parties, and a multitude of pleasant changes rung upon a pleasant tune.

Kitty had taken great care to bring no dull people away from Paris, disliking dull people more than she disliked liars and hypocrites, and the greatest sinners on the face of the earth.

"What right have the stupid to expect the clever to love them, and be civil?" she would say, mercilessly; and she called dulness a disease which was as catching as measles, and avoided it accordingly.

Granted that this policy is selfish, does it not save one from all manner of polite hypocrisies? Our dear dull friends smack their lips over our cakes and ale, and proclaim to all the world how simple we are with all our wit, and how we love them, whilst all the time we have been, figuratively speaking, tearing our hair, wringing our hands, and crying, "Ye gods, deliver us!"

First and foremost of their party was a young English lady named Ella Bartelotte, and her father, a baronet and a widower.

Ella Bartelotte was one of those tiny, fragile, diaphanouslooking women who remain children all their liveswhich are not often long-and fascinate people by their helplessness and angelic bearing of what may be described as a negative existence. Of an organisation so weak that the exercise of almost every sense carried pain with it, she yet contrived to dabble in music, books, travel, and talk, and enjoy them all. Her lungs were weak; her digestive powers of no better quality; her brain incapable of any lengthened

stress; her eyes as soon tired as her slender little wrists. But she had a gentle face and sweet voice, and, though she only liked people here and there, counted her lovers and friends by dozens.

Sir George was an exceedingly moral but hard-natured man, whom nothing but an invalid daughter could have made at all human, and whose humanity was always assuming an apologetic attitude, as if a little ashamed of itself. But no one could be more useful in the capacity of a travelling companion than he, for he went into all the details of expenditure as if he were a courier, and got the best of everything for himself and his party without ever being cheated of a halfpenny. He was liberal, too, in providing pleasures for people his daughter liked, and she liked Kitty, she told him, almost better than any woman she knew.

"She has so much taste, papa," she would say, "a thing few women have. And she is so warm-hearted and kindly-too much so for this cold world. I can't think where she learned all her amiability; it is as perfect as a work of art.”

Then there were some musical people; a gifted Italian gentleman and his wife, who were Myra's guests and protégés, of course, and who showed their appreciation of such good hostesses by playing and singing divinely whenever they were asked to do so.

There was also a Mr Tyrell, one of those Englishmen whom one never fails to encounter abroad, who sketch a little, play a little, have a dozen foreign idioms at their tongue's end, are veritable enthusiasts where foreign art or climate or scenery are concerned, and turn up from year to year at Rome, on the Nile, in Norway, at the Swiss baths, no matter where-looking as young, as gay, and as much absorbed in their dilettantism They don't write, they don't read, they don't care a straw about politics or social reform, but they enjoy life to perfection.

as ever.

And there was a Captain Longley, who hated everything that was not English, and whose chief pleasure in foreign travel seemed to consist in abusing it, who made up the party.