best book, which is not a proper practice on light occasions, I will do the same, or at least I will call your attention to a strong case of antisentimentalism. Have you attended church long enough to have heard of St. Paul? Or, stay, in going to Guildhall, you must have seen a cathedral dedicated to a saint of that name?" "I know of him," said Milwarden; "he was a great cricketer, stood up for the Eleven, and was bowled, and Rhoda stood at the wicket." "One did not expect in the Octagon Club a reproduction of cuttings from the facetic of the American newspapers, Mr. Milwarden." "Never mind about that, as I said before. know all about St. Paul." den. son. "Quite right," said the lawyer. "I'll bet you a sovereign you can't quote Greek." "Done with you," said Alford, yawning. "By Jupiter, he takes the bet!" said Milwar"The savage Orson is endowed with reaI wonder what he's going to say--something he has heard from the Christy Minstrels." "The bet's made, hold your row, Henry," said Doddy Dalston, who was always alive to the athletic sport of betting, "and go ahead, Thomas, my son. Mangles, be umpire. Go it Tom." "Zoe mou sas agapo," said Tom Alford, as I bold as brass, and speaking as correctly as a fellow of Trinity. "In that case you may remember that on a certain occasion a viper came out of some fagots and fastened on his hand ?" "Yes, I have seen a picture of it." "Well, what did he say of the venomous beast ?" "I don't remember that he said any thing." "Quite right. Assuredly he did not say that though he could not approve its apparent intention to poison, he was willing to make allowance for its instincts, and would not refuse to credit it with a most lustrous skin, and with much grace of action. That would have been the sentimental style of treatment which you like. Do you know what Paul did? He shook off the venomous beast into the Fire. He took care that it should hurt neither the barbarous people nor his own educated companions. There's a text and a sermon for you, and if another person asks me for another word of wisdom to-night he won't get it." "There's something in you, Samuel," said Milwarden, coolly, "in spite of what most people think to the contrary. See as much of me as you can, and so add knowledge of men and things to your knowledge of books, and in time you will be a credit to the club. Why did not you ask me to hand you those lights, instead of getting up?" A great shout went up, and Milwarden's laugh was as loud as any body's as he crossed to the distinguished Grecian and put the sovereign into his hand. "All right, old fellow," said Tom Alford, pocketing the money, "and now I've had my revenge on you for poking fun at me all night." "I suppose that you won't tell us how you came to know those words," said Launceston; "but you might tell us whether you think they are in Homer or in Virgil." But Tom Alford was too knowing a badger to be drawn again, and he merely responded by drinking Charley Launceston's health. "I forget what part of the Highlands you said the Dormers were going to, Mangles," said Wigram. "Loch Ness way," said Mangles, answering as briefly as he well could, for he had been displeased at certain words from the last speaker. "I should also like to see Mrs. Dormer," said Henry Wigram. "You said you would show me that photograph, Mangles." "I said I would show it to any particular friend of Dormer's who might call at my rooms," said Mangles, coldly, and somewhat modifying what he had said. "Well, I suppose I may call myself that," said Henry, looking a little surprised at the tone "On n'est jamais mieux servi que par soi-meme," of the other. "When can I come ?" said Mangles. "Is his accent at all tolerable, Marsden-you have lived a deal among the natives ?" "I have heard a worse," said Dick Marsden, "your own, for instance." "That I utterly disbelieve," said Henry Milwarden, "for I was complimented the other day by a police magistrate upon the masterly way in which I spoke Italian to an organ-boy witness, and a person who can speak Italian can speak French." "Or people think so," said Launceston, "on the principle, I suppose, that if you quote Greek you must certainly be a tremendous swell at Latin." "Quote some Greek, Tom Alford," said Milwarden. "Mind that the sentiments are unexceptionably moral, though, or I shall leave the room." "I am at home most mornings until three," said Mr. Mangles, and it could scarcely be called an invitation. He had taken a notion into his head, and until he could reason it out, one way or the other, he chose to place Wigram in a sort of moral quarantine. The House then proceeded to the orders of the day, and we may leave it sitting for the good of society generally. CHAPTER XIX. GOLDEN EGGS. In a small, plain, scantily-furnished room, whose newness showed that it had been an addition to the pleasant and comfortable cottage in its front, there were found one morningsome time before the marriage of Ernest and Magdalen-three persons, two of whom are The two she was a nice little person, and apparently very companionable. And his not over-liberal tribute would have been reasonably just. We have no new heroine to bring upon the scene in the person of one who has been two or three times named as Lucy, and who was known to her tradespeople and her very few friends as Mrs. Verner. known to the reader and one is not. Quietly attired in a striped morning-dress, Mrs. Verner was quietly working away at her favorite occupation. She was painting an egg, the humble egg of the breakfast-table, or some even less honorable egg, and was making it like unto one which for their own reasons collectors much prize, and will buy at vast prices. She copied the delicate hues from her large book, and the plebeian article was gradually becoming a worthy rival of the natural production which she was imitating. Of the two children-they were seen for a moment in Kensington Gardens--one on a low stool was studying, with frowning gravity, a toy-book, the other was dutifully waiting near the large volume, until her mother should be willing to turn over its pages, and explain its glories. The elder child beguiled her leisure by an occasional song, which she was good enough to execute in a very confidential tone, for she had been entreated to spare the nerves of a convalescent, and a more affectionate little thing could not have been found than Mopes. The Dormouse was too young to have learned that she owed the least return for the kindness of any body, and having no knowledge of such a debt, usually set at total defiance all suggestions that did not exactly meet her private views. It luckily suited her, on the present occasion, to keep obstinate silence, and gaze sternly at a picture-book which, the same morn she had promptly consigned to her bath. This personage will probably make her appearance but seldom during the progress of our story, and she is introduced only because considerations, of which a narrator must be the best judge, render it necessary to illustrate the history of one of the principal characters. These words are written in no affectation of fastidious-ing, on its being tendered for her amusement, ness, for from a tale which assumes to be of real life in a given age it would be more than a folly, it would be an untruthfulness, to exclude any social fact of prominence. But it is far more pleasant to write of things and of persons of comparatively unassailable character, and the writer who needlessly intrudes what is unwelcome to the really good may pair off with him who from cowardice avoids what appears to him essential to the development of his picture. The lady who sat near the elephant folio was young, slight, and apparently but just recovering from severe illness, which had given her complexion a delicacy that might not seem in keeping with a face that was expressive of a quaint merriment. Her dark hair, of which she had a good deal, was worn in a sort of crop round her head, and none of it came down to her shoulders. She had very large eyes, and a pretty mouth, which seemed very ready to laugh at the shortest notice. In other respects she might not have been thought very attractive by men accustomed to the glorious varieties of beauty which may be seen in English society. Probably a man who went much into drawingrooms would not have said more of her than that So there was stillness in the little party, and the only sounds that were heard were those of the rustling of the Dormouse's book, and the occasional plashing of the water when Mrs. Verner washed her paint-brush. A ring at the gate-bell, and Mrs. Verner started nervously. "Kaken, praps," exclaimed the younger child, throwing down her book, and rushing at the door with intent to satisfy her mind. But the door being closed, and her powers being inadequate to the lifting a latch by which it was fastened, the young lady instantly set up a great howl, which she suddenly subdued as Colonel Latrobe entered. That officer was evidently a friend of the little family. In two minutes the Dormouse was transformed from a raging imp into a smiling cherub-at least in her mother's eyes, a glittering box of bonbons effecting the change. A similar present was handed to her sister, who took it with a look of quiet thanks, and immediately laid it aside. Latrobe shook hands with Mrs. Verner, and fetched himself a chair from the adjoining room. Mrs. Verner looked at him earnestly for a moment-she flushed and trembled-and led the children from the studio. Presently she returned, and before saying a word she carefully put away her painting materials, and closed her large book. As she did this she looked steadily at Walter Latrobe. Very gravely, Latrobe made a gesture, meaning that she was right. "You knew it ?" "Yes. It would have been kinder to let me know sooner, and in another way from that in which it came to me, but never mind. Do not be afraid of a scene, Walter," she added, wiping some large tears from her beautiful eyes. "I think you know, Lucy, that I would rather have gone on any devil's errand than come on this," he said, in an undervoice, and from be "I knew that was your errand," she said, in a tween his teeth. sweet, sad voice. "You have always been very kind to me and the children; and they are very fond of you. It was good in you to come. I expected a different sort of messenger, or a letter." do not say that I said I would not. I did not mean it. I was only thinking how happy I had been, and that perhaps he might have let me 'May I ask you who has been speaking to stay here a little while. But I am ready; I will you ?" "A woman. But you do not know her. And she only confirmed what I had been guessing at and tormenting myself about for months, and what made me so ill that at one time I believed I should need no cruel messages. But I am quite strong now. I could not die. I looked at the children and I could not die. I am quite strong, and able to hear all that you are sent to say to me." "Strong!" said Walter, impatiently, "you are not fit-" As he spoke a door slammed, and Lucy, alarmed, started out of her seat, and then breathed heavily and began to cry. Then she mastered herself with a great effort, and forcing a smile, which was very piteous, she said: "That is nothing-you know I always hated a slamming door, and that was why he had that latch put on for me-it prevents the door from shutting very easily, don't you understand ?" "Don't talk against your grief, that's a dear woman," he said, very kindly. "I can see how ill you are, and I know all that you are feeling." "You! A man. No, you are very good, Walter, but you know very little about it. But I promise not to cry any more. I know how men detest it. You may say what you are told See, I am quite firm-see how steadily to say. "Why do you do this with me?" he said. "I want you to tell him I behaved well, as as well as I could at least," she said, struggling hard to keep her promise against crying again. "If it will please you I will tell him, tell him that you behaved nobly," said Walter Latrobe, earnestly. "But I am not come to speak of him. I do not think I ought to speak at all until you are better. See here," he went on, taking her hand as a brother might have done. "You have nothing to learn, so talking of the past would only give you needless pain. Let us have the doctors, and the fresh air, and the strength, and in the mean time let me only tell you that every thing shall be done-is done-for your comfort, and that I am your guardian and the children's. I think you can trust me and what I say. Let things be so until you are well, and then we will arrange every thing." "Fresh air," said Lucy, who had looked up suddenly at the words, and had apparently heard nothing after them. "Then we are to be sent away! I thought-I hoped he would not have done that. Oh, I have been so happy here! I can not go away. I will not go away. Yes, I will, I will go directly, whenever you please. I will do whatever I am told. Please, Walter, go to-morrow-my little packing will not take much time, and then the children's things-" It was of no use. She did her best, but her heart was too full, and she pressed her hands vehemently to her face, and wailed, rocking herself to and fro. The soldier who had with cries and curses hurled a fierce handful of his men against outnumbering enemies, and had smitten through brow and brain till the terrified savages recoiled before the fury of that White Demon, sprang straight up and fairly rushed from the room. It was Lucy who had to seek him. And she found him seated on a couch in her little drawing-room, pale as herself, and gazing vacantly at the window. "Oh!" he said, starting as her hand touched his shoulder, "I am not the sort of person to come on such business. I am a fool where a woman's grief is part of it. I could tell a man that he was to be hanged in five minutes-I have done it-and thought no more about it. I am behaving execrably to you, Lucy, and I beg your pardon. I don't know how long I have been out of the room." "Not many minutes," she said. "I broke my promise dreadfully, and you will not trust me again, but you may. Tell me about our -our going away." "But you are not to go away," he said, with what is called an oath, but which, in his honest indignation at the thought of a cruelty, we will not count against him. "Who talked to you of going away?" "I heard something-never mind. He has not sold the things, then ?" she said, timidly. "No. Who said he had ?" "No one, exactly; but I was led to believe I ought not to have believed it. And yet it. I don't know why he should not, if he pleased. They are all his, and God knows I would not ask to keep a thing which he wished to have." "Lucy, I am not here to say that any thing he has done is right; but you will not accuse him of being a'cold-hearted scoundrel?" "He!" said Lucy, her pale face flushing crimson. "He never said an unkind word or did an unkind thing to me in my life, and as for this great sorrow, it is not his doing. I know what it all means, and I am a wicked little thing to rage against it when it is his salvation. Never you dare to say that I thought an ill thought against him, much less said a hard word." Her changed mood was a great relief to Walter Latrobe, and thenceforth he managed his embassy with the calmness of a man of the world. "You always knew my opinion of grief, Lucy," he said, "and all that you say shows me how right I was in believing you to be one of the best creatures in the world. And now There we will speak calmly, for you are in no state to be excited, and if I am to be your guardian I must insist in your minding what I tell you. I had a great mind not to talk business at all, but it may quiet your mind if I tell you one or two things. Every thing in this house, from the door-mat to the roof, is yours for ever and ever, to keep or do what you like with. Understand that. Then, as for living here-" "Yes," she murmured, anxiously. "It is the best thing you can do. are four or five years of the lease yet, and if you should continue to like the place I dare say we can get it renewed for you. And there will be three hundred a year paid to you regularly. I take charge of that, and whether I am here, or in any other part of the world, my agents will honor your order. But for the comfort of having to tell you of these arrangements, Lucy, I would sooner have gone away from England than have undertaken to see you to-day." While he was speaking Lucy's large eyes dilated in the most singular fashion, and fixed Latrobe's curious gaze upon them. His surprise seemed exceeding, but there was no pleasure in the surprise. "As far as this part of the business goes," he said, after a pause, "I hope you think that he is behaving well." "Walter, you must answer me something. Swear to tell me the truth." you will make a great mistake if you disguise the truth to spare me." "As I said before, I will answer you frank ly." "Is it" she said, gaspingly, but with steady resolution not to give way again-"is it a lovematch, and will he be very happy?" "It is not a love-match. I hope that he will be happy. I do not think that he will." "But she is young, and beautiful, and good I know all that-do not think to comfort me by saying that he has thrown himself away for money." "I believe her to be all you say.' "Then why should he not be happy?" "I can tell you my impression only," said Walter, gloomily. "I can not give you a reason, I can not give myself one." This, of course, was untrue, but it was certainly not for Colonel Latrobe to explain his private thoughts to Mrs. Verner. Lucy looked at him hard, but he contrived to preserve the look with which he had answered. Her color went and came rapidly for some seconds, and she kept silence. At last she said: "Walter, you are a man of honor, and you have told me a falsehood. Don't be angry. You had a right to tell it. But you have not deceived me, and I am happier than I expected ever to be again." "Yes," he said, man-like, "I was glad to believe that when you thought it over, and thought "You will have nothing but the truth from of the children, you would consider, perhaps, me." "Here you come, offering me more money than I ever thought to have in this world, and laying out a life of such comfort as money can give-and now tell me this: Does this come from what he gets with his-with the lady he marries ? Answer me that truthfully, and do not-please do not-tell me a falsehood because I am a woman. I know men think that is all right, but I must and will know the truth, if I have to find it out for myself. Am I being taken care of out of-out of the price of his marriage-there ?" "Not a farthing of the provision comes from any source but his own property, and he always intended it for you." "How long?" she asked, sharply, and he saw the meaning. "Why, of course, from the moment he found it necessary to make the-the new arrangement," said Walter, trying to avoid words of unwelcome sound. "And when was that?" "I can not say exactly, but as I am his most intimate friend, I may well suppose that I knew his position nearly as soon as he did, and therefore I can say that it is but a short time since he discovered it." that as much had been done as possible to make a painful affair less painful, and I shall be sincerely happy to watch over your interests, and, indeed, the necessary documents are already in preparation." "And," she said, gazing at him, not in scorn, for his kindness would have prevented that, but with a sort of sadness, "do you, Walter Latrobe, think that when I said happier and I have not had such a word in my heart for I don't know the day when-do you believe I was thinking of furniture and money? No, no. But I am thinking of them now, thinking of them very much indeed, and I rely on you to take all and every care of me." "Most certainly I will." "And you don't ask what I mean?" "Perhaps I had better not." "I see. She is young, and beautiful, and rich, and good, and you laugh to think of my presumption in thinking it possible-and it is presumptuous, but we shall see." "I had better know nothing of what you think or hope, Lucy. That is not within my province, as your friend or his. I am very glad to see you calm, and now I want to see you strong.'" "Yes, and I mean to grow strong, for I mean "What I am now going to ask I know you to work like a little lion." will not tell me." 66 'Work, my child? What nonsense! Can't you live on three hundred a year ?" 66 Live, Walter? I mean to save three hundred a year. No, not quite so much, as I shall |