or perhaps to compose a waltz for Laura's next reception, or very often to read a greasy novel of Dickens or Paul de Kock, Fired from the library at a penny a volume per diem.

* Mrs Cornford might coax or entreat, or declare that she would ༡) and tell Dr Norman what sort of son-in-law he was going to Lave—Perry only laughed or chided in his patronising spoiled-child way, and made answer—

All in good time, Polly. As soon as I am married, no fabricator of pictures for the London market shall work harder than L"

“When the sky falls we shall catch larks," Mrs Cornford would retort; and when parrots leave off prating they'll catch mice like owls. Oh! I know you."

“I am such a poor creature, just because of your unbelief,” Perry said. "When I have got a trusting little wife by my

side. I shall become a second Turner."

"You are clever enough to become anything you choose. But what have you done since coming back, pray, Mr Harumscarum?"

"I have been too brimful of impressions," Perry said, grandly. "The flash of inspiration, like molten goid, must cool ere it takes the form of sovereigns."

And Dr Norman would sometimes say—“And your pictures, Mr Perugino" The doctor preferred his young friend's Christian name, tickled by the artistic and sonorous sound of it.

"Oh! I work like a slave," Perry would reply; "but the daylight is so short, that by the end of a week I have done nothing."

He generally carried a sketch-book or portfolio with him to the Addison Road, and delighted Prissy beyond measure by illustrating a chapter of Robinson Crusoe for her especial benefit. But anything like a finished work never appeared.

Dr Norman's friends were sufficiently versed in art to distinguish genius from mechanism, and declared Perry to be a genius of the first water. Moreover, the young man's simple, happy, impulsive way of doing things, and almost childish enjoyment of unexpected trifles, and his anxiety to please others, won every heart. Circumstances, therefore, favoured Perry's

suit; and one day Dr Norman called Laura to him, and said very kindly-a mother could hardly have been more kind

"I think, Laura, we all know why Mr Perugino is so fond of coming here by this time. Shall I say that my little Laura. likes to have him for her friend?-or send him away?"

And Laura, whose conscience smote her for having given her best friendship to Perry long ago, and for having tried to understand her father less than a daughter should, took his hand to her lips and shed tears over it, crying

"O papa! I have not been good to you; and you-you are an angel to me!"

CHAPTER LXIII.

"A DREADFUL DOOR IN HER SOUL STOOD WIDE." KITTY and Sir George remained masters of the field. The marriage was accepted past question. The wedding preparations had been put in hand.

would become Lady Bartelotte.

In a fortnight's time Kitty

Ella was not the person to make any sort of sacrifice with a bad grace, and she did her best, by every possible act of consideration and generosity, to atone for her past opposition. She lectured Sir George severely on one or two shabby little proposals that he happened to make in her hearing; and to her intervention poor Kitty owed a far more liberal trousseau than in her most ambitious moments she had ever dreamed of. Then Ella talked to Kitty as any practical person double Kitty's age might have done, on the necessity of holding her own, and keeping her husband in his proper place, not by covert blandishments, but by rational candour.

'Dear papa and I would have been wretched if we had made a compact never to contradict each other," she said; "and I am quite sure, Kitty, that you will be ten times. happier if you begin by treating papa quite frankly, and saying what you like or dislike."

"You forget," Kitty said, very humbly, "that I am not Sir George's daughter, but a penniless-in some senses-a friendless girl, whom he condescends to marry."

"Nonsense! When a man marries a woman, he makes her his equal; though," Ella added, with a touch of humour, “I think in this case, dear Kitty, that the condescension is wholly on your side."

And much more Ella said to the same purpose; and Kitty listened, promising this, assenting to that, ready to do anything and everything, out of the fulness of her gratitude.

She was enjoying a little interval of repose that was inexpressibly welcome and dear. Behind lay the past-the past of unrest, and struggle, and ambition; before lay the future, for which she had toiled and span, and she trusted it, and went on her way rejoicing.

There were trifles that made her cheeks glow with pleasure, such as wedding gifts, little notes of friendly recognition from Ella's cousins, invitations from some of Sir George's friends in England; one-O happiness!-signed by an earl's daughter-and other things of the kind recurring daily. These small triumphs astounded and dazzled poor Kitty beyond measure. What had she done to deserve such signal good fortune? One evening she sat in her room, lost in the contemplation of her treasures, moral and material, and enjoying a rare feast of solitude. Sir George had become a much more exacting lover of late, reasoning thus-" If my chivalry leads me so far as to marry this girl, surely she has a right to reward me accordingly?" Kitty must always be walking with him, reading to him, writing for him, and flattering him, or he grew irritable and jealous. A little solitude was therefore a rare feast, and on this particular occasion Kitty felt disposed to enjoy it like an epicure. She walked to the wardrobe, and opening the door, contemplated her new dresses one by one. There was a velvet dress, a satin dress, and a lace dress, all new treasures, and a white dress for her wedding, and other delightful things, owed to Ella's generosity. Then she opened her drawers, and handled delicate laces and cashmere morninggowns, and embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs—all Ella's gifts. Lastly, she took up her jewel-case, and putting it on her lap, smiled the smile of a joyful child.

Kitty's belongings were certainly nothing extraordinary, and

by no means exceeded those of any gentlewoman of ordinary means. But then she had been a draggle-tailed Cinderella, a beggar's daughter only two or three years ago, and she felt herself by comparison transformed into a fairy princess, a King Cophetua's bride! She turned over her trinkets one by one. There were Myra's gifts-the trinkets she had worn in Paradise Place had been discarded long ago-the gold brooch of Trichinopoly work, which had marked the beginning of their friendship, the bracelets, the rings, and other gifts. How rich she had once felt herself in the possession of these! And what were they in comparison to later acquisitions? There was the pearl necklace, Ella's gift, and the opal and diamond ring, Sir George's pledge of betrothal, and an old-fashioned but handsome diamond agrafe, the wedding gift of Sir George's sister; and last of all, her crowning pride and delight, a case of jewels which had belonged to Sir George's mother, and which Ella declared to be Kitty's beyond all question now.

Kitty sat amid her wealth, a bewitched and bewildered thing. Was life in truth a reality or a dream, and should she wake up one morning to find her treasure spent, lost, visionary as fairy-gold? She felt so rich that she could hardly help doubting in her riches now and then.

As she was thinking these thoughts, Françine tapped lightly, and entered with letters. Letters were pleasant things to Kitty now, since they generally contained congratulations, or gracious little nothings from some of Ella's kin, and she took them eagerly. The first was a somewhat pompous but kindly-meant note from one of these future relatives of Kitty, which she read with a smile of contentment. The other was from Polly Cornford, and brimful, as Polly Cornford's letters were sure to be, of slang, good-natured scoldings, wise saws and comments. Polly wrote to congratulate her runaway upon her approaching marriage; and Kitty read on, thinking what a kind and forbearing letter it was, and how unselfish a slangy, slatternly, outspoken creature like Polly could be.

Polly, in truth, spite of her radical discontent with Kitty's conduct, could not help feeling and expressing a certain amount of pleasure at her good fortune. Polly loved Perry

with all her heart, but she saw exactly how much his inconsequent behaviour was to be charged to Kitty's so-called treachery; and when the vials of her wrath were once spent upon the traitor, a little worldly-wise congratulation was evidently lurking behind. Polly Cornford was far from being a proper-minded person, giving just an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. From her the devil always got his due, and a little more. But the gist of her letter lay in a postscript.

And this is how the postscript ran :—

The

"P.S.-You'll be glad to hear that Perry is not the fool he was. Lord be praised for it! He is engaged to marry Laura Norman, with her daddy's consent, and will beat his betters yet. My blessing on you both; and to you, my lady, gilt gingerbread without end, and an appetite accordingly."

Kitty started from her seat, and held Polly's letter to the lamp with trembling hands and dilated eyes. Yes, the words were as plainly written as it was possible to be. He is engaged

to marry Laura Norman!

She dashed the letter aside, took it up and tore it asunder, then matched the fragments, and read for a third, a fourth, nay, a fifth time-He is engaged to marry Laura Norman !

She crushed the letter in her hands with fresh passion, and kneeling before the fire, thrust it between the bars. When it had burned away she unlocked a drawer, and took out a little silk bundle. It will be remembered that during the first weeks of Kitty's stay at Shelley House, Perry had gone down to see her. Terribly frightened lest his ragamuffinly appearance should scandalise so proper a young lady as herself, she brushed his coat, and taking up a pair of scissors, clipped an inch or two of that long curly hair that Perry never willingly trimmed. It will be remembered that the operation was hardly over when Regy entered, and, quick as lightning, locks and scissors were thrust in Miss Kitty's apron pocket.

Kitty had often laughed at herself and chided herself for keeping such a souvenir of her old lover; but whenever her trunks were turned out, on arrival or departure, the little silk bundle had hitherto found a corner. She used to think that some day or other the bright curls of hair should be put in a