titles as much as Kitty herself, treated the baronet as if he had grown fifteen years younger, and almost handsome, within the space of a few minutes.

The short bright day was drawing to a close as the little party drove homeward, catching glimpses of mountain ranges transformed by the setting sun into miracles of purple and golden glory. Kitty sat by Ella's side, opposite to Sir George and Mr Tyrrell, but wholly unable to enter into the spirit of the latter's enthusiasm. Whilst Mr Tyrrell and Ella talked of palms and sunsets with the eager enjoyment of people who have lived with Nature, and loved her well, Kitty said to herself, feeling half envious, half contemptuous, "Thus could I have enjoyed, and thought, and talked about beautiful things, if the Fates had been more generous, and not compelled me to build up my fortunes unaided and alone."

Sir George said very little during the drive; but when it came to an end, he asked Kitty whether she would not walk as far as the Consulate with him, and she said she should very much like a little walk at so bewitching an hour of the day. So they set off, side by side.

"You don't object to a cigar, do you?" asked Sir George, after a considerable silence.

And of course Kitty did not object.

"Will you like to take my arm?" again asked her companion. "You must be a little tired."

And of course Kitty accepted his arm, saying that she was a little tired; adding, that after the long drive, the exercise. was most refreshing.

"Don't you think we have had a pleasant day?" Sir George went on.

"Delightful, indeed."

"Though I daresay you were quite affronted, because that ass of a Frenchman chose to stay away?"

"Why should I be affronted?" Kitty said, with a smile.

"If you have really come to the conclusion that the adoration of a fellow like Fontanié is worth exactly thus much," Sir George went on, scattering a thimbleful of cigar-ashes to the

winds, "you show more sense than I ever gave a woman credit for."

i

"Thank you for the compliment," said Kitty, saucily, and stepping out, dropped a bewitching little curtsey.

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But, seriously speaking, if Ella's consent can be obtained, why should you not marry me?"

Kitty was silent.

"You wouldn't object, would you?" asked the baronet, sharply. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, you know; and a penniless girl, no matter how handsome, can't marry a title and a comfortable home every day."

"I know you do me great honour," Miss Kitty said, slowly -"very great honour indeed. But".

"Of course there must be a few 'Buts!' I quite expected that."

"I was only going to say that nothing would induce me to marry you merely because you have a title," Kitty went on, with something of offended dignity in her voice. "I am not quite so mercenary as you seem to suppose."

"Oh! I take it for granted that you like me pretty well," answered her lover, coolly. "We have been such capital friends all along, and I'm sure, if ever a man was desperately in love, it is myself! But what about Ella?"

"Dear Ella! she must not be made unhappy, of all others in the world!

"No, I must sooner give you up than spoil Ella's peace of mind. It would be morally impossible for me to grieve her." "And I love her so dearly that I would almost give up my life for her sake."

"I know you would," Sir George said, eagerly, "and she knows it too. Surely she would make a little sacrifice in order to have you always with her."

Kitty, who knew Ella better than her father did, simply because they were both women, was silent.

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Suppose you name it to her?" Sir George added, with considerable uneasiness in his voice. "On my soul, I don't think I could!" And Kitty promised to name it to Ella.

CHAPTER L.

THE SWEETS OF LOVE.

BEFORE Sir George and Kitty parted, they agreed that it would be best to keep their own counsel for a day or two. Sir George had long promised to visit an old military friend of his quartered at Gibraltar, and the bright thought struck him that he might just as well be out of the way whilst the two girls settled his love affair between them! Such a thought would have hardly entered the head of an ordinary lover; but then Sir George was not an ordinary lover. He considered himself to be desperately in love with his daughter's attractive protégée, and felt much elated at the idea of winning so young, devoted, and charming a wife, especially as he was now in a position to marry without injuring Ella's prospects. He did not "compass her with sweet observances," after Dr Norman's fashion, or woo her as only a born poet, like poor Perry, could. If Kitty felt satisfied, what did it matter? Certainly, to come down from the affection of such men as Dr Norman and Perry to the affection of such men as Sir George, was coming down from figs to thistles, and from grapes to thorns, with a vengeance. Kitty, whatever might be her weaknesses, had the keenest perception of the reality of things, and whilst accepting Sir George's love, valued it exactly for what it was worth. She, moreover, looked into the future, and saw what it would be worth during the years to come.

In the first place, it would bring her a title, and Kitty exulted childishly over the idea of being called Lady Bartelotte. She repeated the name to herself again and again, and I wrote it on little scraps of paper

LADY BARTELOTTE,

and dreamed pleasantly at night of being called "My lady" by Françine and the rest of the servants. Thus much would Sir George's love bring her. And it would bring her, if not wealth -for Sir George was the last person in the world to woo his Danaë in a shower of gold-the appliances of wealth: a train

U

of servants, a well-appointed house to live in-home hardly seemed the word to use-a carriage to ride in, fashionable clothes to wear, perhaps even a few jewels.

All these things she had hitherto prized beyond the most precious gifts of affection; and was she going to undervalue them now when they were offered her for the term of her life? By no means.

If all went well--that is to say, if Ella could be brought to consent-she should marry Sir George, and make him as good a wife as his heart could desire. She should turn her back upon those sweet foolish fictions of youth, and love, and romance, and try to forget that for her they had ever been. She should take Sir George's gifts in a kindly and not a captious spirit; not asking for more than he had to give, not making herself or her husband miserable, because she could not love him as she knew it was in her nature to love!

During the two or three days that intervened between Sir George's proposal of marriage and his departure for Gibraltar, his behaviour was hardly what could be called dignified. In Ella's presence he conducted himself with so much discretion towards the woman he adored, that no one would have guessed his secret sentiments for an instant. He affected a sort of patronising air to her, which to any one less amiable and longsuffering than Kitty, would have been intolerable; asked her to run and fetch this, to sit down by his side and write that t; corrected her faults of pronunciation, flatly quizzed her for such naïve little blunders in etiquette as the most careful and clever persons can hardly help making who have upheaved themselves from the proletarian to the patrician strata of society; in fine, whilst intending to blind Ella, and to put his relationship with Kitty on a sure and stable footing by a little wholesome discipline, made himself appear as unlike a lover as well could be.

Now, full credit must be given to Sir George for wooing Kitty in this frank and unceremonious manner. He had not forgotten Mrs Cornford and her bottle of Hollands, and felt that, however much he might admire and adore Kitty, it was an act of extraordinary condescension on his part to make her Lady Bartelotte, and that if he began by spoiling her at the

outset, there would be no telling what airs she might not take upon herself in the future. She must understand the sacrifice he was making for her sake. These splendid creatures, Sir George mused, who turn a man's brain, have often very strong wills of their own; and if Miss Kitty has a very strong will of her own, which she chooses to keep in the background for the present-well, we shall see who is to be the master!

Sir George was simply endeavouring, therefore, to curb Kitty's ambition, hoping by this means to prevent all misunderstanding in the future. Kitty had much better marry him with her eyes open if she married him at all; and though he felt that to lose her now would disappoint him and enrage him. beyond measure, he was determined to make courtship a fit preparation for marriage. When alone with her he would. permit himself to indulge in tender little looks and speeches that, he thought, must more than compensate for overt castigations and hostilities. He would talk to her in a confidential way about her future manner of living, interlarding his words. with "my love," and "my dear," as if they were married already. Once or twice he had attempted to behave in a more lover-like fashion, but Miss Kitty, who was as proud as a peacock where her personal dignity was concerned, had repelled these advances with a charming show of haughtiness, saying--

"You forget, Sir George, that we are not engaged as yet; and though I am the beggar's daughter, and you are King Cophetua, I presume that the beggar's daughter is not to be thought worse of for having a little womanly pride, sir?"

And this little touch of coquetry, prudery--call it what you will-made the baronet swear a hundred secret vows that a girl with so much spirit should be his wife at any cost.

In all other respects Kitty was as meek as if indeed she were the beggar's daughter, and Sir George, King Cophetua. She treated him exactly in the way that some men like to be treated by women, referring to his judgment in everything, anticipating his wishes, hanging upon his looks, paying the homage of a willing slave. What wonder that poor Sir George was intoxicated! He was continually checking himself in his generous impulses, however, thinking: "I must not-I will