Poor Kitty had to pay dearly in these days for the interest. she had formerly affected to take in old books. Sir George was never tired of re-arranging and re-cataloguing his treasures, and why should not Kitty help him, since she was so conversant with the subject of bibliography, and so fond of it, too! Morning after morning was spent in the monotonous work of writing, from Sir George's dictation, the names and dates of musty old Plutarchs and Horaces, and Facciolatis and Chaucers, and making lists of Aldine editions, and other editions, in which she took not the slightest interest. If she grew pale and weary, Sir George had the shabby little pony-carriage put to, and would drive her to see his farms, or to the nearest posttown to get his letters.

"We won't call upon any one till we return from London," he had said; and as they effectually hid themselves from observation, Lady Bartelotte received no visits. Sometimes she went into the village to play the Lady Bountiful; but how much more difficult it was to be the Lady Bountiful of Akenholme Park than of Shelley House! In Dr. Norman's house a store of wine and meat was always at hand for the sick or aged poor; in Sir George's there never seemed anything to give away. Dawson, the housekeeper-by no means the traditional housekeeper in black silk and widow's cap Kitty had expected-but a homely old soul, who had been chosen by Sir George for her thrift and pliability of disposition, used to answer her mistress's questions thus

"Lors! my lady, there's no sort o' use in yer ladyship listening to them folks. They'll make a lady like you believe a sucking-pig is a red herrin', with their artful talk. Sir George gives away coals and meat to the good church-goers at Christmas, and a sovereign to all the lying-in women on his estates, and five shillings extra to them as have boys; and what more would they have? There's no gratitude in poor folks, as yer ladyship will soon find out."

Kitty proposed to Sir George that she should take an interest in the Sunday-school; but he cautioned her against pledging herself to anything very serious.

"It is all very well to hold with the clergyman of your parish,

and attend church, and that sort of thing. I'm a good Conservative, and I would do as much for Church and State as anybody. But, my dear, you don't know what it is to be hand and glove with a country rector. First he wants money for repairing the church, then for the schools, then for a new organ, then for the choir, till what with one thing and another, your hand is always in your pocket."

So Kitty was compelled to receive the friendly invitations of the rector's family with polite frigidity; and to give up the idea of reigning supreme in the parish.

"We shall see a little of our neighbours in the autumn, I suppose?" she said to her husband one day.

"My dear, I don't think you would care for our neighbours. We shall interchange calls and personal visits, of course; but they are richer than we, and it is better not to get too intimate. We must be economical, and think of what need of economy the future-under God's blessing-may bring."

Kitty wondered how she should continue to spend the days at Akenholme Park without Ella; for Ella had bound herself over to share Mr Tyrrell's home one day. There was a piano, there was a flower-garden, there was a pony-carriage; but little else upon which she could count for amusement. Without the prospect of occasional visits to London and Ella, her future looked dull enough. For in spite of all that had threatened to estrange them, and had, in truth, marred the first sweetness of their friendship, Kitty clung to Ella as of old. What the lives of some women would be without the friendship of other women, is only known to God and themselves. Kitty was fain to make much of the only friend left to her of so many! Matters mended as soon as they reached London. The house in Clarges Street had been repaired and embellished. Ella had engaged a respectable staff of servants; a pretty open carriage was indulged in; and the household arrangements were put on a comfortable footing. To Sir George's intense satisfaction in the prospect of Ella's wealthy marriage-Mr Tyrrell was, moreover, heir to a baronetcy—much of this liberality was owing. He loved Ella as dearly as ever, but his own marriage had altered the course of things, and naturally he wanted to have

Kitty as much as possible to himself. For Kitty seemed to him to grow more bewitching every day. Kitty's dreams, therefore, had come true at last the dreams of wealth, of elegance, of refinement. She was presented at Court; she was invited to sumptuous houses; she drove in the parks, as she had longed to do in the days of her scheming, sulky, and yet how wellbeloved girlhood! It was very pleasant; and she would have liked the season to last all the year round. The late hours, the dazzling lights, the round of formal calls, never wearied her, as they soon wearied Ella. She attended morning concerts, and as she leaned back in her velvet chair on the first row, recalled the old days with a smile. Then she used to sit with Perry in the orchestra, and he amused himself during the intervals by cracking nuts for her, or drawing caricatures of the performers on his programme. Ambition was silent within her for a while, and she only cared to enjoy. These bland, soft-minded ladies and gentlemen she met night after night, did not frighten her, as she had expected they would do. There was no occasion to shine or seem clever. It sufficed to look agreeable, and do nothing. One evening Kitty and Sir George attended a brilliant soiree at the South Kensington Museum. The place was crowded to the last inch with well-dressed people, who trod on each other's toes, jostled each other, and elbowed each other with graceful apology. There was a band of good music, and a refreshment-room, to which Sir George, who always liked refreshments, took Kitty. Whilst sipping their tea, a tall, darkbrowed, much-bearded man, entered, with a fair-haired, roundcheeked, languid-looking lady on his arm. Kitty did not know that Myra and Captain Longley were again in England, and started. Before she had time to whisper their names in her husband's ear, they approached, and were in the act of sitting down, when Myra recognised her friend. Kitty, without thinking, smiled, and was about to advance; but Myra turned away, and Captain Longley followed. It was evidently intended for a dead cut! Kitty coloured a little.

"I had forgotten how angry I made Myra two years ago," she said. "She must do as she pleases about forgiving me." "Confound their impertinence!" said Sir George.

"The

idea of Mrs Longley cutting you is preposterous; but she never quite knew what etiquette was; and camp life in India has not taught her, it seems.'

Myra had treated the matter much more seriously, and was quite pale with excitement.

"I hoped I might never, never see her again," she said to her husband. "No one knows how I loved her, and how she

deceived me."

"And I have little cause to be grateful to Miss Silver-I beg her pardon-Lady Bartelotte," Captain Longley rejoined. “She did me an ill turn when I first paid court to you.”

"Was she well dressed? Did she look happy?" asked Myra.

"I really never noticed her dress or her looks; but they are still there, and I will take a survey on the sly." So saying the captain put up his glass and eyed the pair. "Yes, I should say she is well dressed."

"Do they appear pleased with each other's company ? " Again Captain Longley took a survey.

"I should say," he said, slowly, "that she is a little bored; and no wonder, for I always looked upon Sir George as the most consummate little prig on the face of the earth.”

Kitty appeared to treat the matter lightly, but she did not forget it. Why could not Myra let bygones be bygones? Had she no recollection of human devotion? If the one had been lavish in worldly things, the other had been profuse in gifts of a rarer kind. They might surely cry quits now and be friends. Myra's conduct disconcerted her. It was vulgar on grounds of etiquette, and high-flown as a matter of sentiment. Kitty, in homely phrase, wanted to have her cake and eat it to use her friends as best suited her, and retain their friendship. But friendship is a garden of flowers, to be cultivated with tenderest love and care; not a plot of common ground, to be dealt with according to its marketable value. So, in time, Kitty found out.

CHAPTER LXXI.

MORE OLD FRIENDS.

It was now July and summer in earnest. The sun had scorched all the colour out of the parks. The trees in the squares looked brown as in autumn. The red-hot faces of the omnibus drivers blazed from Camberwell Gate to Hammersmith Broadway, as watchfires of old from Ida to the Arachnæan hills when Troy was taken. Yet the rich and pleasure-loving stayed on; and Kitty, for whom awaited the cool glades and over-arching bowers of Akenholme Park, dreaded the very word "departure as a sentence.

Sir George used to say to her again and again, not imagining that his Elysium could be her Hades

66

My dear child, when Ella runs away from us we can winter at Akenholme. Only think of the comfortable, undisturbed life it will be; and I really see no reason why we should not let the London house for a time."

Poor Kitty! She determined to shut out this idea of the comfortable, undisturbed winters at Akenholme Park, and enjoy the present whilst it lasted. She hardly dared to speak to Ella on the subject of her marriage, so greatly did she dread what she knew would follow. One day Ella happened to say"Mr Tyrrell wants me to marry him this autumn, and proposes to take me to Egypt for my wedding trip."

"And have you consented?" asked Kitty, almost breathlessly. "Oh no," Ella answered, laughing. "He must have a little patience. There is time enough."

"How dreary it will be when you are gone-how dreary!" Kitty said, sighing.

"I hope not, dear Kitty. You must rouse papa, and make him see how necessary a little change is for you. Why should you not take the Nile journey with us-or, at any rate, part of it?"

But Kitty knew in her secret heart that she could not rouse Sir George. If she roused him at all. it must be by sheer force of will and temper; and to exercise will and temper now would