Sich was Perry's conduct un ler the process of domestication. as naturalists say. No wild young elephant caught in the corrals of Ceylon could show a greater dislike to being tamed than Le, and he flew to his old studio as a refuge, and to his old friend for sympathy.

"If I haven't a spur in my side," he said in these days to Polly Cornford, "I've a bit in my mouth, and no mistake about it. I've heard of mothers-in-law"-here he made a grimace of dismay-"but I'll be hanged if fathers-in-law are not ten times worse."

"You are a lucky dog to have Dr Norman for yours,” answered Polly.

"Oh yes"-here Perry made another wry face-"but he leads me a terrible life of it, I assure you. I daren't say my soul is my own."

"What does that matter? The clothes on your back are, which is much more important."

"I can see well enough what the doctor is driving at. He. wants me to stick to work, and save my money, and become a respectable member of society," Perry said, indignantly; "but I won't be driven to anything--I tell you I won't be driven, Polly!" He added, in a doleful voice-"I've no longer a spark of ambition in me. When a man loses-you understand what Laura and I are as happy as can be, but I'm an ungrateful wretch to say so,

I would say, Polly. a little dull sometimes. but such is the truth. If I could only forget that a woman had never lived of whom one could say, 'Time cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.""

"Oh yes, I know what to expect of you," Polly said, bitterly. "Laura is an angel, and Kitty was the opposite. Because you are happy, you think how much pleasanter it would have been to be scolded, and sermonised, and quarrelled with, and looked down upon; whereas little Laura worships the very ground you tread upon-the more fool she!"

Perry never got much condolence from Polly Cornford, you may be sure. His prosperity was the crowning satisfaction of her life, and she talked of it by day, and dreamed of it by night. She wrote to Kitty about it-perhaps the only little

bit of malice Polly had ever indulged in; but as she said to Vittoria

"A woman can no more help being spiteful, if injured by another, than a man can help using his fists if affronted by a blackguard."

Perry had, indeed, a bit in his mouth, though it was held by a light and careful hand. Dr Norman managed his son-in-law with great skill. In a spirit half of playfulness, half of gentle resistance, he had contrived to make his way into the young man's confidence; and once that victory achieved, the rest was easy. Perry's superficial vagabondage he let alone. If he preferred to breakfast at noon, and go unkempt in his shirt-sleeves for the rest of the day, what did it matter to him? If he liked Artemus Ward and French novels better than any other literature, that was equally Mr Perugino's own affair. But since Perry had married a young wife, it was surely his duty to bestir himself a little, and go about the business of life in a manly spirit. Dr Norman set a hundred little traps of the kind Perry was too blind to see. For instance, he would send him the following note

"DEAR PERUGINO,-Will you bring Laura to dine with me to-morrow at seven o'clock? So-and-so" (naming the very person Perry had expressed a desire to meet) " is coming, &c., &c.; all of them worth your while to know. Yours truly, E. N.

-man for you exactly at a quarter to seven, and

"P.S.-I will send my fly-m he shall bring you back."

Of course Perry would take Laura; and the consequences were, that the young artist made plenty of influential friends, and saw himself fairly on the road to fortune. At the house of his father-in-law he met art lovers, who looked upon a new genius as so much treasure-trove; art critics, artists, and cultivated men and women of the world, who took kindly to Perry, as was only natural. When Polly Cornford heard of the invitations sent to Perry and Laura from houses of the best standing, her eyes beamed with pleasure. She was content. to paint clever, ill-paid pictures in her lonely little studio all her life, so long as Perry flourished like a bay-tree. Poor old

Petroffsky, whose memory no more retained what was said to him than a sieve retains water, used to nod at Polly's good news, and smile, and try to hit the right nail on the head, by saying—

"There is nobody like Kitty Silvare—j'ai dit cela toujours, mon amie."

He thought Perry had married Kitty all the time! Perry, therefore, prospered against his will. When his picture was hung on the line at the Academy, and obtained flattering notices in the newspapers, and he was pointed out as the next A.R.A. to be elected, and fortune smiled upon him, do you suppose he was as grateful as it behoved him to be? Do you suppose in his secret heart he called himself a lucky fellow ? O stern moralists! look into your own hearts and forgive! Which of us does not think he could improve upon Providence now and then? We are like big children at a lottery, and would fain change our prizes, were they the very ones we have coveted. Perry was sure to enjoy life very much. With his loving, gifted nature, anything like moroseness was impossible. He merely felt a little dull sometimes, as he had said to Polly Cornford

"Ah! what days those were when we all lived together, without a care and without a sixpence," was the sentiment this ungrateful young cynic would utter. "A bottle of champagne was a bottle of champagne then."

"Which wasn't often," Polly answered. "And a song was a song when I was a young harum-scarum," Perry added. "I'm a proper sort of person now. I've no debts. My position improves every day; but on my soul, Polly, I couldn't sing to a merry tune if it were to save my life.”

But it must be said on Perry's behalf, that he did not fall into a moralising mood very often. Laura thought herself the happiest person in God's beautiful world. Whether Perry were idle or industrious, sad or merry, devoted to her happiness or addicted to solitude-for Mr Perugino had alternate fits of asceticism and sociability—were all one. He was her husband, her joy, her darling. She wondered whether other women loved their husbands as much as she did, and whether

such love made them as happy. On the whole, then, Dr Norman had reason to be thankful. Laura loved Perry too fondly to take his shortcomings to heart; and, so long as Perry was under his eye, they could not take much harm. Of course the young couple got into difficulties now and then, for Perry adhered to the maxim dear to Bohemia-"Take no thought for the morrow." They would occasionally wake up to find themselves without money. Perry would shock Laura by buying some rare old oak cabinet with the money she had been saving up for the quarter's butcher's and baker's bills. Or they would determine upon the most rigid economy in eating and drinking, in order to buy a bit of tapestry Perry had taken a fancy to, till both fell ill from sheer want of proper food. Amongst Dr Norman's boys Perry reigned supreme; and Prissy liked him sincerely. But Prissy had only one hero, who was her father. She clung to him more and more as time wore on, and gloried in his distinction as Laura gloried in Perry's. What Dr Norman's life would have been without the love of his little daughter he dared not think; and it seemed to brighten the future, as a distant ray of sunlight brightens some far-off field.

CHAPTER LXX.

THE RETURN HOME.

THE Bartelottes returned to England in May; and Sir George and Kitty went straight to Akenholme Park, till the house in Clarges Street should be got into order. Ella stayed with friends in London. Kitty had never been into the Eastern counties before, and found it dreary. There was the departure from Shoreditch Station to begin with. What can be more conducive to a suicidal state of mind than the long, tortuous winding of the train over the squalid, smoky districts of Stepney and Stratford? No sunshine brightens, no breeze penetrates those dusky regions of London, which look more fit for the habitation of Cyclops and ghouls than of civilised men and women. When at last the train was speeding amid bright

green fields and trim villages, they left off regretting foreign lands, and grew cheerful. Kitty was dying to see Akenholme Park, and to take her place as mistress of it. She felt sure she would be happy there.

"We shall have to rough it a little till we get back to London," Sir George said. "I told Dawson not to hire more than one or two servants, as our plans are so uncertain."

"You and I are fortunately not so fastidious as dear Ella," Kitty answered, smiling.

Akenholme Park was a pretty place enough, as far as natural advantages went, possessing soft green slopes, and noble oaks, and a garden capable of development into something really enticing. The house was well-built and comfortable. There were a few good pictures on the walls, a little choice old furniture, collections of china, coins, and the usual heirlooms of a house, if not ancient or splendid, at least of respectable age, and moderate wealth. The great treasure of Akenholme Park was one which Kitty could appreciate very little, namely, a small but choice library of rare old books. What troubled Kitty was the shabbiness of the place. The carpets were threadbare, the colours of the curtains faded past recognition, the papers on the walls discoloured with age. The garden was utterly run to waste. The stables were empty. The old family carriage dilapidated past mending. She tried to coax Sir George into a little lavishness, by all womanly, wifely

arts.

"Dearest," she would say, making him look at this or that piece of faded upholstery, "you shall have no rest till you let me go to Ipswich and order the new furniture for the drawingroom."

Whereupon Sir George would only shake his head and chuckle at Kitty's supreme naïveté and overweening ambition. As if the furniture that had been good enough for Ella was not good enough for a young lady brought up in Paradise Place, forsooth! He would merely say

"We must see what the preparations in London come to first, you know. Do, for the present, leave off bewailing the furniture, and help me with my books.”