'WHERE is Floy, Gussie?'

Mrs. Knightly asked the question of her eldest daughter, as that young lady entered the room, still equipped in habit and hat, where the comely widow sat in luxurious idleness.

'Gone to her own room, mamma, and Gerald has ridden off straight to Woolwich: he sent a good-bye to you by me, for he had no time to come in.'

Augusta stood looking absently out of the window. She had something to say, and she was not clear as to how she would say it. The knowledge that Gussie had something to communicate had dawned upon Mrs. Knightly from Gussie's manner; therefore she too felt uncomfortable.

'Whom have you seen this morning, Gussie?'

Oh, several people.'

'Why don't you go and take off your things? I want you to go out in the carriage with me; I want to go into Regent Street.'

'Dear mamma,' began Augusta, turning round suddenly and facing her mother a proceeding which made that good lady feel herself guilty of meanness, somehow or other, in having listened to anything against any one who was dear to Augusta; 'dear mamma, I will get ready to go with you anywhere, after you have answered me a question. Is my marriage to take place, as was arranged, in August ?' 'What do you mean, Augusta?'

Mrs. Knightly always would try to gain time before she answered a straightforward question by asking another.

'Will you take measures-in fact, will you give me the fortune papa always promised me?'

Mrs. Knightly always had tears at command; three large rolled down each cheek.

VOL. I.--NO. IV.

ones

ing-table whereon lay a note addressed to Sir Francis Tollemache, with pale cheeks and red rings round her eyes.

'Gussie, dear! what is the matter?' she asked anxiously, throwing her arms fondly round her sister's neck; and then Augusta, who was not a bit of a heroine when there was no occasion for it, burst out crying afresh; and after binding Floy down not to say a word to mamma nor to Baines, poured her sorrow into her sister's sympathetic

ears.

'What a rage Rupert will be in, Gussie! he's so fond of Frank; do ask him to speak to mamma.'

'Has mamma shown herself so anxious to serve Rupert, Floy, that we could reasonably hope for his speaking to be of any use? Now let me bathe my eyes, for I'm going out with her, and I shouldn't like her to see that I had been crying.'

She did not look like a Niobe as she swept down the stairs and through the hall after her mother. Still less did she look like one as she took her place in the open carriage-one of those sloping carriages in which it is almost impossible for a woman to be anything but graceful-and shook out her voluminous skirts into soft, easy lines and folds. Some peculiar golden-lined flowers, which rested under the brim of her white bonnet at the top, and merged away into nearly white at the sides where they came in contact with her face, prevented the pallor of her cheeks from being conspicuously apparent; and a hazy veil concealed the redness of her eyes. She gave her mind to some silks at Swan and Edgar's in a way that enchanted her mother -for whom they were-and was so politely attentive to her mother's rather weakly nothings, that on their way home after a happy hour of shopping, out of the fullness of her heart that lady spoke:

'I am very much pleased with the way you take it, my dear; you're sure to do much better; and if you'll follow my advice, you'll at once send back whatever presents he may have made you.'

Augusta kept her head turned

away while her mother was speaking, and for a minute or two after. When she did turn it round she brought on it the smile with which she had just greeted some acquaintance who had passed. She did not answer in words then-or at all-but that day at dinner her beautiful little hands were almost covered with rings—with rings that Frank had given her, as Mrs. Knightly angrily perceived.

Miss Knightly was not one to regard herself as an advertising medium or moveable placard; therefore she did not feel called upon to rush about and inform every person with whom she had ever held friendly communion, that the engagement between Frank and herself was broken off, or at the best indefinitely postponed. But it was a kind of thing that despite her haughty reticence, would get talked about. And one morning when Rupert, after spending an hour or two in Tollemache's rooms, said to him in a laboriously impromptu manner, 'If I were in your place, my dear fellow, I'd get out of this for a time-it's what I should have done myself if Georgie's father hadn't behaved so handsomely; couldn't you go abroad? you needn't fear to leave her; Gussie will be true as steel to you.' When Rupert said this Frank Tollemache knew that the brother and sister had talked it over, and that the sugges tion that he should go away had been made by the lady to spare him possible mortification. And so with a faint but clinging reliance on that last feeble straw, time, which unhappy people so providentially hope is going to do much for them, Frank Tollemache and Augusta resolved to separate, until the mother's heart should be in the right place again.

Mrs. Vining had one of those dangerous little dinners which young married women will so recklessly persist in giving, regardless of consequences. Georgie Clifford was there, of course, and Rupert Knightly. They were a safe pair enough, for their wedding-day was settled; it was not to them that this dinner was dangerous. Nor was it so to Augusta and Frank Tolle

mache, who, as he expressed it, was there for a farewell feed, previous to starting off to the Continent for a time. No; to them it was a tedious, distracting affair this elegantlyarranged little dinner. This spotless table, with its delicate white service and dazzling glass and silver, warmed and lighted up with red wax candles, seemed a mockery of the grief-the sad, helpless grief that was filling both their hearts. It was to radiant Florence-radiant though in simple white muslin, with an innocent row of pearls round her even fairer throat-that this social little meeting was dangerous, for Colonel Crofton was there; and the keen, polished man was ever keener and more polished at Harry Vining's table than anywhere else. He was a favourite of the hostess, too, and that always gives a man immense advantages.

He had been a frequent visitor at the Knightlys' house of late; and Florence could never sufficiently admire the refined tact which made him-though of course devoted to her-persistently endeavour to ingratiate himself with her motherwith her rich mother, on whom, as had been proved in poor Gussie's case, everything depended. Mamma cannot fail to like him, she thought, and if my wealth may be the means of his being enabled to marry me, how right he is to try and please her so as to insure it.

Florence

liked him too well to pause and consider how very unheroic such a proceeding was on the part of this idol of hers. He did not say much to her individually, whilst they were seated at table, for the party was too small for the conversation to be anything but general. And Rupert did no small service to Colonel Crofton's cause in the heart of Florence, by talking to him a great deal, and giving him the opportunity of saying a great quantity of clever nonsense, in order to cover Augusta's sadness and Frank's silence.

But when they had all reassembled in the pretty amber-coloured drawing-room, the party was not one in which conversation was likely to be general. Rupert and Georgie were

in such a happy, tolerant state, that they would have talked to any one who would have listened to them; but only Mr. and Mrs. Vining were inclined to listen to them. Miss Knightly had seated herself in the back drawing-room, which was faintly and softly lighted; and Frank stood by her side, leaning over the back of a high chair, and they were speaking n low whispers. And Florence, sitting at the piano, played little dreamy pieces, that did not disturb the melodious flow of words which Colonel Crofton, sitting by her side, poured into her ear.

'We have not been to Greenwich once this season,' they heard Mrs. Vining say to Georgie, after a time.

'Would you like to go?' said Colonel Crofton in a low tone to Florence. 'If you would, in a short time I could make one of your party; but it must not be just yet, as I am bound for every evening for some time to come.'

He wanted Georgie Clifford to be off and away before that excursion came to pass.

I should like to wait until you can go with us,' Florence answered with a warm blush; but you see we are dependent in a measure on Mrs. Vining.'

'Nonsense, excuse me, but if that is all, I will undertake to persuade Mrs. Knightly to go, and then you can fix your own time. Perhaps we had better not say anything about it until your brother is married. Gerald will meet us there, no doubt, and we'll have a delightful family party.'

He said the words designedly; and for many days-till the Greenwich day was among the things of the past indeed-they were meat and drink to Florence; and her eyes at once told him that they were so. 'Dearest, dearest! then your silence means that you wish my suit with your mother success,' he said, bending down and lightly touching her hand for one moment, as he affected to turn a page for her. Florence, lowering her golden head to avoid his too earnest gaze, made a short speech, but one that was very much to the purpose.

'Yes;' and then as she dashed off

a difficult piece, felt rather ashamed of herself for being so very happy, when poor Gussie's heartstrings were being so strained at. She could almost have laughed (she said this to herself, though in truth she could have hit Georgie with pleasure), when Miss Clifford, on saying good night to Colonel Crofton as they all stood cloaked and hooded in the hall, remarked that he looked almost as sentimental as he had done on the last occasion of her having met him there. It was very spiteful of Georgie, she thought, to refer to his passing admiration for herself in that way; for of course it was only that. She could almost have wished, too, that he had chosen other words for his answer than,

And I cannot plead a fairer cause, Miss Clifford.'

But, altogether, she went home very happy indeed, and understood perfectly now why people liked dinner parties.

She did not condole with Gussieshe did not, indeed, remember that Gussie stood in need of sympathy and condolence-until she had removed the filmy muslin and pearls and ordered her maid away. Then she flung on a white dressing-gown, and ran to Gussie's door.

May I come in, Gussie? Do let

me.' On her sister admitting her, she proceeded to explain how sorry she was that she had forgotten to say good-bye more particularly to Frank, who was going the next day; and as Augusta acquitted her of all blame, and rather absently accepted her excuses, she went off into a discursive canter through the wide field of Colonel Crofton's merits, and was brought up at last by Augusta saying languidly, and in a manner that clearly proved she had not been listening to a word Florence had been uttering

'Whom are you talking about, Floy? Colonel Crofton? Oh, I hate the man; he's so deceitful.'

Floy had to make great allowances for Gussie's state of mind in order to curb her wrath; she said good night to her sister rather coldly, and went off to a happy solitude.

Though Frank is going away, and though he was stupid enough to

lame a horse that had once belonged to Colonel Crofton, Gussie needn't have said that, was her thought as she stood before her mirror brushing out her bright hair; but when they come to know him better they'll all do him justice, I'm sure. How I hope mamma will like him!

And where do Rupert and you mean to live, dear?' asked Mrs. Knightly of her future daughter-inlaw, as she was preparing to leave the room in Lord Clifford's house which had been devoted for some days to the reception of all the new dresses for the great occasion. Gussie and Floy had been with Georgie all day deciding the question of what the bridesmaids should appear in; and Mrs. Knightly had just driven over to fetch them according to agreement, and to inspect preparations as far as they had gone.

'Where do Rupert and you mean to live, dear?'

'Well, Mrs. Knightly, I've rather wondered that you haven't asked that question before. Where should you think would be the most proper place?'

Georgie was on her knees before an artificial flower box, and she dropped a wreath into it as she spoke, and looked up straight into Mrs. Knightly's face.

Mrs. Knightly, aided by her conscience, read in Georgie's eyes, 'Don't you think the house in Piccadilly, where you have stationed yourself, would be the most proper place for Rupert Knightly, Esq., and his bride to take up their abode?' and the reading displeased her.

'I don't know, I'm sure,' she answered, rather shortly. 'If I had been consulted, which I haven't been, I might have an opinion to offer; as it is, I have none.'

Georgie, sweet and dear as she was, rose freely if the least slight was put upon her; the laughing light went out of her eyes in a moment, therefore, as she stood up suddenly before Mrs. Knightly and answered

'Consulted you! Considering that my father has settled house, lands, everything that he has upon dear Rupert, there was small occasion for