"I don't know how it is that, with all their talents, they do so little," said Dr Norman's guest, himself an artist. "Look at Perugino Neeve, who painted 'An English Autumn Eve!' Three years ago I prophesied for that young fellow one of the finest positions among our rising artists; but he has done nothing since; and I have just heard that he has died of malaria in Algeria."

I hope that the report may prove a false one," Dr Norman said. "We know something of Mr Neeve and his friends." And then, after a little more talk of Perry, the subject was dismissed, as if it were not of more than ordinary moment.

Poor Laura had flushed to the brow on hearing such terrible news of Perry, and it was with a great effort that she could maintain anything like composure during the rest of the evening. As soon as she escaped to her own room, she wrote a passionate letter to Mrs Cornford, which was posted that night, entreating to know more particulars of this rumoured calamity.

With what agitation Laura heard the postman's knock next day, it may well be imagined. She could not eat, she could not employ herself-she could only sit by the window, waiting and watching. At length came the following note from Mrs. Cornford, written with paint on a scrap of drawing-paper :"DEAR LAURA,—Perry has written to nobody. If he is alive, he is a bad boy. If he is dead, of course we shall call him an angel. I should like to have had three bundles of hay to choose from if I had been a donkey. How can I believe that Perry is dead?-or that he is alive? I've done the best for his picture anyhow.-Yours, P.C."

Laura wrote a long letter of condolence to her friend, which Mrs Cornford did not read. There the correspondence ended. The summer came on apace, and still Perry gave no sign.

CHAPTER LVII.

SUCCESSFUL DIPLOMACY.

KITTY started on the yacht voyage determined to marry Sir George Bartelotte; Ella was equally determined not to have her dearest friend for her stepmother. How were these parallel lines to meet? Two months of pleasant distraction

had slipped by, and neither Kitty nor Ella had yielded an inch. The obnoxious subject was wholly ignored for the most part, but whenever it came up each felt a transient bitterness towards her friend.

"Kitty says she loves me better than anything in the world," reasoned Ella, "and yet she cannot see how this wretched marriage must come between us. If we were indifferent to each other, there would be no cause for me to raise objection to it."

"Ella is so sweet and unselfish," Kitty thought, "and she cannot understand that I am capable of unselfishness too. I suppose all women, even the angelic ones, are jealous by nature."

Thus they naturally went on misjudging and misinterpreting each other. It was as little likely that Ella should comprehend Kitty's ambitious eagerness, as that Kitty should comprehend Ella's generous scruples.

Between father and daughter, the subject had been tabooed from the beginning. Once or twice Sir George made a feeble effort on behalf of himself and his bride-elect; but Ella's deprecatory look and word were enough to awe him into immediate silence.

He was always saying to himself-To-day I will speak out, or to-morrow I will constrain Ella to listen; but to-day and to-morrow passed away, and he had not spoken out.

There were more reasons than one why Sir George was so eager to consummate this marriage. In the first place, he was in love with Kitty after a fashion. In the second, it was reasonable to hope that a young wife would bring him an heir. In the third, he had a man's natural wish to bequeath the estates that had come to him from his father to a son of his Poor Sir George felt that such a blessing would indeed be a recompence for the crosses that had befallen him, and the upright and Christian career on which he prided himself. The anticipation of it made his heart light and his step elate. If only Ella would listen!

own.

Ella's uncompromising attitude drove him to Kitty for consolation. It was like a sudden descent from mountain regions of perpetual snow to soft green meadows, laughing streams and hedgerows full of flowers.

"Would that be quite fair towards Ella?" Kitty asked. "What can we do that she will consider quite fair?" Ah, true."

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"It is only the first step that costs," Sir George added. "Dear Ella cannot fail to see, by and by, that your marriage with me will be for her own good; and till that time we must bear her vexation as best we can. The sooner all is settled

the better, I say."

This was exactly what Kitty had thought for a long time, but she listened in silence.

"We might as well be married quietly when we get back to Gibraltar or Malaga; don't you think so?"

"That is for you alone to decide," Kitty made answer, modestly.

"I decide in favour of the proposition, taking it for granted, of course, that you have no womanish notions about trousseaux and that sort of thing."

Kitty had very womanish notions about trousseaux “and that sort of thing," but was too much overcome by her lover's condescending goodness to confess her weakness. Sir George went on

"You will find me a much more practical person to deal with than Ella, who, I verily believe, would spend every penny she possesses in decking you out with finery. Beauty unadorned is adorned the most, to my thinking; and you always look handsomer than other women, no matter how you dress." Kitty acknowledged the compliment, though in her sacred heart she prized beyond expression the adornments of the outer woman he seemed to think supererogatory. She was too well satisfied, however, with Sir George's new mode to cavil at minor mortifications, and had, moreover, schooled herself resolutely into an attitude of meekness.

"I have, indeed, won a treasure in this girl," Sir George thought, "who has so taken to heart the teachings of adversity. What other woman would recognise her true position-as she does-to the nicety of a hair?"

And as the rest of the party lay prostrate in their berths, and the sailors were busy, he snatched a kiss from the object

of his affections by way of rewarding her for her meekness, and himself for his generous behaviour.

Thus the matter was settled, and Kitty felt sure at last that she should become Lady Bartelotte.

As soon as the weather improved, their companions crept on deck one by one. The first happened to be Mr Tyrrell, and he was so impressed by the confidential and affectionate tone Sir George and Kitty assumed towards each other, that he could not resist running down-stairs, and imparting his suspicions to the owner of the yacht, Colonel Fellowes. Colonel Fellowes, of course, repeated the story to his wife, and from her it went the round of the ladies, excepting Ella.

A spice of scandal at sea, how good and acceptable it is! Every one felt quite grateful to Sir George and Kitty for breaking the general monotony so kindly. Ella was not slow to interpret the sly looks and signs interchanged by her friends on every side; nor was she less slow to understand Kitty's somewhat artificial though devoted manner towards herself, and Sir George's affected ease and unaffected hilarity. Kitty, moreover, wore a ring of Sir George's giving. There was no need to ask questions. The truth was so plain that those who ran might read.

In Ella's pure heart waged a terrible conflict. She would fain have exonerated Kitty from blame, and loved her as dearly as ever; but some strong spell seemed to hold her back. Perhaps she did love her as dearly as ever; only how terrible are our affections when the leaven of mistrust has leavened the whole lump!

CHAPTER LVIII.

ECONOMY VERSUS LOVE.

BUT Ella could not support her unhappy scruples long. The atmosphere of solitude and mistrust was so unbearable, that she determined to come down from the high level on which Kitty's spirit had once moved in unison with her own, and abide where Kitty willed. She reasoned with herself thus:"Kitty is surely not to blame if her ideal of life and conduct

is less lofty than mine; I am rather to blame for carrying an inborn and nurtured fastidiousness into my affections. She is what she is as much by the force of circumstances as I am myself. We must have patience-God only knows how much! -with those we love."

What Ella suffered in this conflict can hardly be told. To her loving, religious nature, Kitty had come as a sweet pariah from the outer world of sin and suffering, and she had set herself the task of turning the pariah into an angel. Loving Kitty devotedly as she did, she had hitherto borne the moral defects of this superbly endowed, captivating, enthusiastic creature, hoping to see them amended in time. But now what hope was there for Kitty? Was she not selling herself to a title? Was she not forfeiting all that good women hold dear and sacred—the close affection and friendship of married life?

Kitty had said that but for her friend, she would never have promised to marry Sir George; and Ella knew well that she believed such a statement to be true. Would Sir George have had to go away an unaccepted wooer, in any case? Ella doubted. There was only one Kitty in all the world, however, and Ella felt that she could forgive even more at her hands than this. Accordingly, when the two girls were next alone, Ella's icy mood melted, and she clasped her friend's hand, saying tearfully

"I hope you will be happy in your own way, dear Kitty. If I have been angry that your way is not mine, I am sure you forgive me.”

Of course Kitty declared that she had nothing to-forgive, and they kissed like children who had quarrelled about a cake. After a great many protestations on Kitty's part of her entire self-abnegation and devotion to Ella in the future-why was it that the loyal Ella made no promises ?—the conversation naturally fell upon wedding-clothes, and other topics of the same kind. There is a comic vein running through every tragedy, no matter how dismal it may be; and after the agonies of dismay, suspense, and apprehension described in these later pages, all the comedy of Sir George Bartelotte's engagement to Kitty Silver came out.