be fond of her, and grateful to her for being willing to have mebut it is better not; and now I think I will go, Mrs. Travers.'

So, with a tremble of real emotion in his broken words such as he had hardly believed himself capable of feeling for little Flora Travers, Captain Hartley took his leave, walked somewhat unsteadily down Grosvenor Street, owing to an unusual dimness before his eyes, then turned into Bond Street, where he encountered a friend, into whose arm he linked his own, and by the time he had reached his club in Pall Mall had, under the influence of congenial society and a good cigar, completely recovered his equanimity and his usual good spirits.

Wattie Ellison was hard at work at his chambers in the Temple. No painting litter, no easels with half-finished pictures upon them were to be seen about his rooms now, as in the old days when he had aspired to be a Royal Academician, and had copied Gretchen Rudenbach's gentle face as a study for his 'Joan of Arc. Somewhere or other up in a lumber-room, behind several dusty portmanteaus, and a pile of very much dustier law-papers, that same canvas was leaning with its face to the wall, just as it had been left on the morning of Georgie Travers's death-with the figure of Joan of Arc drawn in, and Gretchen Rudenbach's face, fairly finished, shining like the head of a saint out of the blank canvas, whilst a confused mass of black chalk scratches all round it served dimly to shadow forth the howling, raving multitude that were to have been seen struggling and fighting below her scaffold.

Long ago had Wattie Ellison done with such idle fancies of a short cut to fame and fortune. His table nowadays is covered with briefs, his clerk looks in every now and then to receive orders and directions, and his face looks very stern and aged since the days when he was poor Georgie's penniless lover, who rode his uncle's horses, and had much ado to keep himself in boots and breeches through the hunting season.

Presently the clerk comes in with a cup of coffee and a piece of dry toast on a tray, announcing it somewhat pompously as your lunch, sir.' Mr. Ellison answers, All right, put it down,' and goes on with his reading and taking notes till the coffee gets stonecold, when he drinks it all off at a gulp, and munches the toast with his eyes still riveted upon the blue pages of the draft in his hand.

Little enough time has a rising young barrister, with a fastspreading reputation for talent, for any such trivial occupation as luncheon !

Presently the clerk looks in again.

'If you please, sir,' he says with some hesitation, 'there is a lady wishes to speak to you.'

Eh, what-a lady? Some begging governess, I suppose. I can't possibly see her, Adams.'

So I told her, sir,' said Adams doubtfully; but she seemed to think you would be sure to speak to her-and she is a lady, sir, and none of your begging-women.'

'Very well, go and ask her her name.'

Presently Adams came back with Mrs. Travers's card between a very much ink-stained finger and thumb.

'Show her in at once.'

And Juliet enters.

I am very sorry to disturb you, Wattie,' says Juliet, when she had shaken hands with him, and had taken the chair he hastened to offer her. I won't detain you one moment; I only want to ask you if you will go down to Broadley next Sunday.'

Why, is Mr. Travers ill?' he asked quickly.

Not at all, that I know of; but the old man is always, as you know, glad to see you; and, besides, Flora will be at home again,' added Juliet, looking down demurely at the threadbare carpet below her feet.

I don't see what that has to do with me,' answered Wattie, with stern disapprobation of Flora and her movements in his voice.

'Don't you?' cried Juliet, looking up at him suddenly in her impetuous way; then I will tell you-I think it has everything to do with you. I am a very old friend of yours, Wattie, so I am going to take the liberty of telling you that you are just throwing your happiness away; and I can tell you that, if you won't take the trouble to put out your hand to take her, somebody else will save you the trouble.'

If Flora prefers somebody else' began Wattie stiffly. 'She does nothing of the sort,' broke in Juliet angrily; and the proof is that she is going back home to Broadley again as free as when she came to me; and I can tell you,' she added, with a free translation of the events that had happened which was thoroughly feminine, that if she had chosen she might have gone home engaged to Captain Hartley, and that she is not ought to be a proof to you that, whatever little faults she may have, her heart, at all events, is in the right place.'

Do you mean to say that Hartley proposed to her?' asked Wattie excitedly; for the idea of a rival is never pleasing to any

man.

Certainly I do; and somebody else will probably do the same

unless you look after her yourself. I have no patience with you, Wattie-letting a nice affectionate girl like Flora slip through your fingers, just because you don't choose to take the trouble to speak to her.'

'It is not that, I assure you, Mrs. Travers,' began Wattie eagerly, and flushing a little as he spoke. 'I never meant to force Flora's affections-and I have fancied lately that she did. not care for me except as an old friend. She has been cold in her manner to me, and has done several things which she knew I did not wish her to do, and which I had expressly asked her not to do. For instance, there was the day at Lord's-could anything prove more plainly to a man that a girl did not care for him than that?' Oh, what fools you men are!' cried Juliet; why, her coldness to you and disregard of your wishes was just what showed how much she was thinking of you; and as to the cricket-match, why, she went in a dark-blue bonnet which made her look almost plain, just because you are a Harrow man!'

6

'So she did!' exclaimed Wattie, remembering the fact for the first time. I did not notice it then.'

6

Why, you were blind! A more marked encouragement could not have been given to you. You men always seem to think a girl must throw herself into your arms before you can believe in her sincerity. Now, don't be a fool, my dear friend; go down to Broadley next Sunday, and see if I am right or not about her affection for you.'

Wattie Ellison promised somewhat shamefacedly that he would go down to Broadley, and Juliet shook hands with him and took her leave.

From the Temple Mrs. Travers drove to Mrs. Dalmaine's. house, where Flora was waiting impatiently for her.

Well, Flora, I have settled it all for you,' said Juliet, as the two drove off together. Captain Hartley has behaved very well, and acknowledged the wisdom of all I said to him. I have convinced him that an engagement with you would be the height of folly, as there would never be money enough for you to marry upon, and your father would never hear of it; so it's all at an end, and he has sent you a pretty message, and we are neither of us ever going to allude to the subject again; he is not at all angry with you, and thinks you are quite right-and I don't think he is very broken-hearted; so let us never speak of it again.'

"Oh, Juliet, how can I ever prove my gratitude to you?'

Why, by doing exactly as I tell you. I am sorry to put an end to your visit, my dear, but I am going to send you home to

morrow.

'Not really?oh Juliet!'

'Yes, really, Flora. Believe me, after what has passed, it would be very awkward for you to meet Captain Hartley; besides, I have promised him that you shall go-it is only right and fair to him.'

Flora shed a few tears behind her veil. I have been very foolish and wrong, I know, Juliet dear,' she said; but losing the rest of the season seems a dreadful punishment.'

'Well, take your punishment patiently,' said Juliet, laughing, 'and then perhaps it will turn out better than you expect; and be thankful, you foolish child, that you are not punished much more severely than by missing a few balls and fêtes.'

But of that other interview with Wattie Ellison at the Temple, and of his proposed visit to Broadley on the following Sunday, Juliet, like a true tactician, said not a single word.

They were passing down Bond Street, and stopped for a moment at one of the large jewellers' shops.

'You needn't get out, Flora; I am only just going to ask if my bracelet is mended,' said Juliet, as she got out of the carriage. She went into the shop. A gentleman stood with his back to her, leaning over the counter. It was her husband.

A shopman was holding up before him a very handsome diamond locket, for which he was apparently bargaining, whilst several others of the same kind lay spread out in their velvet cases on the counter.

'I don't think I can do better than have that one,' said Cis. 'Certainly, sir; it is quite the handsomest thing of the kind we have had for some time, and I am sure would give satisfaction. Where shall I send it for you, sir?'

'To Miss Rudenbach-120 Victoria Villas, Notting Hill,' answered Cis in a distinct voice, dictating the address to the man, who wrote it down.

'I will call again,' said Juliet, turning to the door, to the man who had come forward to her. I find I have forgotten something. I will call to-morrow.'

And she got herself out of the shop and into her carriage with the sort of bruised, giddy sensation one has after one has had a severe fall or a severe blow.

6

'Was the bracelet done?' said Flora. Why, how white you look, Juliet.'

Home!' said Juliet to the footman, who was waiting for orders, and spoke not another word all the rest of the drive.

(To be continued.)

BELGRAVIA

APRIL 1877.

The World Well Lost.

BY E. LYNN LINTON.

CHAPTER X.

REHEARSING.

ITTING side by side at a small round table, as if pressing together in mutual protection against the spaciousness and magnificence of their unloved grandeur, Mrs. Brown de Paumelle and her daughter were spending one of those quiet half-hours of gossip and needlework, which were the only moments of happiness accorded to them in their gold-tormented lives. Sitting there together, talking of old times when they lived at Clapton, and before they had become swells,' as Jemima called the gentry; living back over the Wilsons and the Jobsons, and Miss Wilson's West-End bonnet and Mrs. Jobson's ruby satin gown; over the discourses of their favourite minister-they had been Baptists then, when they were only honest city tradesfolk, but had fallen from grace so far as to be Church people now, when they were friends with the aristocracy and the owners of fabulous millions-and how that one on the deceitfulness of riches came home to them more now when they thought of it than it did then when they heard it, and how that other on the security of the saints was more comforting then under good Mr. Shepherd's fervid ministration than they found it now with Mr. Oliphant's colder doctrines; asking each other's advice as to what shade of colour should go there, and which was the best kind of flower to put there--they forgot for the time the sorrows of their success, and were once more plain Mrs. Brown and her daughter Jemmy, who was no 'catch' for any man, and of whose sacrifice for paternal ambition or superior mendicity there was no kind of possibility.

It had all come too suddenly. Old Brown had kept his affairs a close secret, even from his wife; and beyond the general assurance

VOL. XXXII. NO. CXXVI.

K