and crying won't move you, and plain truth won't move you, or I might say what your conduct looks like, and is, in the eyes of every just person."

"You speak as if I had determined upon quitting you for ever," Kitty said, with a calm smile. "Dear Myra, your absence in England need not extend beyond a week, and you will then find me-not with the Bartelottes-but awaiting you in your own house. Nothing of the programme is to be changed, except that you will join us a few days later; and if it were not for poor Ella's helplessness, I should not dream of going with them."

"Ella less helpless than I am!" Myra said, petulantly. "She has twice as much cleverness and twice as many servants! I am sure to be cheated or sent on to the wrong place by that dear stupid Tom-Tom and the boy Walter."

"But, after all, we may be fighting with shadows. If the Bartelottes would only stay here a week longer, all the difficulties would vanish," Kitty said, brightly; "and you must know that if I were to go with them, it would be solely as your representative, and putting other considerations out of the question utterly"

"All other considerations?" said Myra, bitterly.

"O you jealous, wayward thing!" cried Kitty, seating herself on a low stool at her friend's feet, and looking up into her face with an irresistibly fond, though fault-finding smile. "You must not say such things, for you do not mean them, I know. As if I cared for Ella as much as I do for you, my more than sister, my benefactor, my patroness."

"But if you care for me so much, why do you dream for a moment of letting me go to England alone?"

"Dearest," began Kitty, "is not every one obliged sometimes to sacrifice feelings to the exigencies of society ?—but I am always preaching on this text, and the more I preach the less you seem to listen. In plain English, we are pledged to Sir George and Ella."

And she went on with her casuistry till Myra consented that Kitty should go to Arcachon, and not only consented, but knowledged the necessity of it.

Having obtained this concession, Kitty proceeded to instruct Myra's servants, Walter, Tom-Tom, and her maid, as to the care of their mistress on the journey, and to make all sorts of fanciful preparations for her comfort, cramming her pockets with bonbons, her bag with new novels, her trunk with all sorts of things that she persisted in considering necessary. It was arranged that Kitty should meet Myra at Tours on her return, and that they should write to each other at least twice a week. Kitty smiled and scoffed at the merest insinuation of her part of the compact being broken; and after a time Myra believed her, and presented her with a costly diamond and ruby ring, as a pledge of good faith and friendship.

Then came the hurried lunch, the drive to the station, the leave-taking, and, when the train was fairly on its way to Boulogne, Kitty breathed a great sigh of relief. She was fond of Myra, and she wished to save her pain, but she felt very glad to have her away for a time.

One Gordian knot was at least untied. Who could tell what happy interventions might render the others as easy in the untying?

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE WATERS OF OBLIVION.

ARCACHON is the quaintest place in the world, with a little village of lodging-houses, built like pagodas, forests of little pine-trees, little walks and drives about a little lake, and a climate of such soporific quality as to produce a kind of mental torpor upon all tourists who go there. So soporific, indeed, is the pine-scented air, that one would be inclined to think an assassin might forget the murder on his conscience, a philanthropist his schemes, an author his critics, whilst breathing it. And Kitty Silver indeed forgot the friends and lovers to whom she was bound.

She was enjoying a sense of freedom as new as it was delightful. Sir George and Ella treated her as if she were a

duchess. It was always, "Would Miss Silver like this? Would Miss Silver object to that? Did Miss Silver wish to visit such and such a place?" Every arrangement seemed made with regard to her pleasure, and, beyond a little care of Ella, she was absolutely free from any responsibility whatever. All this kindness, this hospitality, this consideration, came spontaneously and unsought. She sat down to rich feasts, mental as well as material, every day, with the assurance of being a welcome and honoured guest, and she had never before found herself under precisely the same circumstances.

Had she not purchased all the pleasant things of Shelley House with the coin of innumerable daily services? Had she not richly paid Myra for all the good things of her giving— acting by turns as housekeeper, secretary, butler, milliner? How often had she gone to bed sick and weary with the efforts of the day, commiserating herself and envying every one else in the world?

Here life was easy beyond her imagination. She had nothing to do but to enjoy herself all day long, and she flourished on such liberal diet, looking so handsome in her pretty, country costume, that it was a pleasure to behold her.

She never seemed to remember that she was handsome, which made people more ready to praise her good looks. And, in fact, so busy was she with all sorts of plans and problems, that she had very little time to think about her personal appearance.

"How beautiful you are!" Ella was always saying. "How handsome and clever that girl is, by Jove!" was Sir George always thinking; and between the two Kitty got as much praise as was good for her. Praise is, no doubt, a great personal beautifier, so long as it is kept within legitimate bounds, just as continuous undeserved blame makes people grow cross and ugly. Kitty could hardly help smiling and looking bright when she saw her smiles and bright looks reflected in other faces; and her new friends were most appreciative. They appreciated Kitty for her real self, finding her fresh way of looking at things in general especially

refreshing to persons like themselves, whose experiences were limited to one phase of society. Kitty forgot sometimes that she was no longer the Kitty of Paradise Place, and would impulsively give way to piquant little witticisms that were. hardly refined. She would blush a delicious rose-colour when the deed was done, and say very meekly

"What have I said?-but that comes of living among authors and artists, you know. One can't help imbibing slang."

Her Protean idiosyncrasy came out astoundingly. Sir George was a bibliomaniac; and what, in Heaven's name, could Kitty know about old books? But Kitty was not one of those who 66 eyes have they and see not, ears have they and hear not." She had lived in Bohemia, and Bohemia boasts of its bibliomaniacs too. She remembered how upon one occasion—it was in her childhood-there had been a struggle of many days between the universal bibliomania and-starvation. Perry's father possessed a rare black-letter Bible, which he adored almost beyond his little curly-headed lad of nine years; but the little curly-headed lad was in rags, and poor Polly Cornford had to bury her husband, and Kitty herself, a wild-eyed gipsy of nine years, too, was lying sick with measles, and duns were at the door.

Poor old Perugino held out till the entreaties and reproaches of the women-not Polly Cornford, mind you-were too much for him, then, very meekly and sadly, carried off his beloved black-letter, and brought home forty pounds in exchange; and Mr Cornford was buried, and poor little Perry was fed and clothed, and Kitty was provided with wine, and every one rejoiced, except old Perugino.

Kitty remembered this, and racked her brains for other half-forgotten facts about books, in order that Sir George might find her conversant with his hobby. She told him of such and such a place in Paris, and such and such a place in London, where he would not fail to discover treasures; and discussed booksellers, editions, bindings, catalogues, till Sir George was in a seventh heaven, and thought Ella's friend

All the softness and ease and elegance of the existence she had been leading of late, all the influence of Ella's refined nature, inclined her more kindly towards Dr Norman now. All the outlying troubles, that seemed gathering like a snowball, inclined her more kindly towards him. She never wanted less to go back to the hum-drum country life that she knew would be her portion as his wife; but Ella was making her good, and she dreaded to do a wantonly wicked, unwomanly thing.

The clock of the little church struck eleven, twelve, one, and Kitty knew no more what the purport of her letter was to be than she had done in the morning. She dipped her pen in the ink, and, having dated the letter, began desperately

My dear Dr Norman.”

But as soon as that was done, she rose in desperate indecision, and walked up and down the room, sighing to herself. Perhaps, had she felt morally certain that if she broke off with Dr Norman then and there, she should be no more reminded of him, and no more brought into contact with anybody belonging to him, she could have sat down at once and ended the misery.

"If only some one, if only something would help me," she said to herself as she turned about the paper, unwilling to write the death-warrant of her best friend's happiness. Once she stopped, and wrote the following sentence to see how the truth looked

on paper. "Oh ! forgive me. I must be false to you. Forget

the wretch that I am!" But no sooner were the words written than she held the paper to the candle, and destroyed the horrid symbols that they were. She cared for Dr Norman's good opinions, for her own self-respect, too much to prove herself a liar; but then the cost of being true!—to go back to the humdrum village life; to take upon herself the charge of those wilful children; to respond to Dr Norman's noble, honest, large-hearted life and love-could she do all these at all, much less do them well?

And then there was Perry!

She threw herself on the bed in a paganish impatience with the Fates that had brought her into such straits, craving in