upon the ground in a shady spot. Then she drew from her pocket a letter which she had not read more than a dozen times, because she had found that she could not do so without crying, and because it is silly to cry when one is happy. However, the usual effect was produced upon her by the reperusal of poor Willie's reply to her announcement of her intended marriage. It was a composition upon which much time and pains had evidently been bestowed; there was nothing in it to hurt the feelings of the most sensitive of brides or widows; but that, of course, was just what rendered it so desperately reproachful. When Marcia read again the little formal, childish phrases, every one of which she already knew by heart, she felt that she had been attempting an absolute impossibility all this time.

"Oh, my own dear boy," she exclaimed, through her tears, "I can't forget you, and I wouldn't if I could! I must see you again; I must tell you that I love you as much as ever, though I daresay you won't believe me."

And so, that evening, it came to pass that Mr. Archdale was agreeably surprised to find his wife quite eager to make a start. He knew as well as she did that they were not likely to be received with open arms on their return to their native land, and he had expected her to oppose him in the matter; but as it was really essential that he should pass a few months in London, he was grateful to her for her ready assent, the cause of which he did not surmise. He flattered himself that her love for him had weaned her from all other affections; and this was not inexcusable on his part, seeing that she had repeatedly assured him that such was the fact.

It was soon after Easter that they reached London and took up their quarters at an hotel in Cork Street which had been recommended to them. Eton boys get a month's holiday at Easter, but that was a circumstance which Archdale had no special reason for remembering, nor did he understand his wife's anxiety to find out the exact date on which the vacation was supposed to end.

"It all depends upon whose vacation you mean,” he said. "If you are thinking of the smart people, I should say that you might look forward to seeing them in about a week."

"Oh, I haven't time to see anybody!" answered Marcia, somewhat disingenuously, although it was true enough that her leisure moments were few.

They had agreed that they could not stand the discomfort

and expense of an hotel for the whole season, and thus a process of house-hunting, the burden of which fell entirely upon Marcia's shoulders, was inevitable. Her husband good-naturedly told her that any house which might suit her would be sure to suit him, so that there was no occasion for him to waste time which he could employ more profitably in his studio by accompanying her on her search expeditions. These were tiring and at first disappointing; but she ended by discovering a modest mansion in South Kensington which seemed suitable for their purpose; and, on hearing her description of it, Archdale at once gave her the authority to close with the house agent's offer.

"And I think," he added, "the best plan will be for you to move in and get things straight as soon as possible. I wrote to Lord Wetherby the other day to ask when it would be convenient for him to let me finish my work at his place, and this afternoon I had an answer from him saying that I could name my own time. So, if you don't mind, I'll go now and get it over. I shall be back in less than a fortnight most likely, and I daresay you'll be glad to have me out of the way while you are settling down and engaging servants and so forth."

It was with mixed feelings that Marcia heard of this project. She had reasons of her own for being glad that her husband should leave London just then; but she did not quite like his leaving her at all, and she was a little mortified by her exclusion from an invitation which she would have refused, had it been extended to her.

"Didn't Laura Wetherby ask me to go with you?" she inquired.

"Well, it wasn't from her that I heard, you see. Lord Wetherby's letter was a sort of business communication, and as I didn't mention you in writing to him, I suppose he forgot that I am no longer a bachelor."

"Anyhow, I couldn't have gone; so it doesn't matter," observed Marcia, who nevertheless knew that neither Lord nor Lady Wetherby could really have forgotten her existence.

But it was not of the prejudice and injustice of these old friends-for which, in truth, she had been fully prepared-that she was thinking while she set about making the South Kensington house inhabitable. As she was fond of pretty things, she would probably have spent a good deal more time upon that process had she been less feverishly eager to put herself in communication with Sir George Brett, to whom, on the second day VOL, VII.-NO. XLII.

3 D

after Archdale's departure for the north, she indited a letter so humble in tone and so modest as to its request that she did not see how any man possessed of a human heart could answer it unfavourably. All that she asked was to be allowed one interview with her son; she left it to Sir George to say when and where the interview should take place; she disclaimed any wish to interfere with existing arrangements, and she promised that she would not say a single word to the boy which might render him discontented with his lot.

This appeal she addressed to Blaydon Hall; the consequence of which was that she had to wait through two days of misery and suspense for the following reply, which was dated "Portman Square."

"MADAM,--Circumstances have prevented us from moving down to the country this Easter; hence my delay in acknowledging the receipt of your note. I regret that I cannot see my way to comply with the suggestion put forward therein. Both Lady Brett and I feel that we ought not to sanction any meeting between you and one whom we now regard as our own child. We think that the tendency of such a meeting would be to unsettle his mind, and I am compelled to add that we do not think ourselves bound to stretch a point or to do a foolish thing for the sake of gratifying a mere caprice on your part. Rightly or wrongly, we consider that the step which you have recently taken is not compatible with the maternal affection to which you lay claim; the performance of what appears to us to be our manifest duty is, therefore, the less painful to us. Painful it must necessarily be to us to decline all further intercourse with our sister-in-law; still we have the consolation of knowing that in doing so we are actuated by no resentful or unworthy motives. I will only add that our determination must be taken as final and unalterable, and that

"I am, Madam,

"Your obedient servant,
"GEORGE BRETT."

The combination of George and Caroline which was perceptible in every line of this dignified missive might have tickled Marcia's sense of humour, if she had had any sense of humour to be tickled, and if she had not been far too disappointed and angry to be amused. As it was, she could only vituperate her brother-in-law's cruelty, and if there was one passage of his letter which struck her as being more cruel than another, it was that in which he had accused her of a lack of maternal affection. Such, doubtless, was the impression which he desired to convey

to Willie, and such was the false impression which it was not only her right but her duty to remove.

By what means she was to achieve this legitimate object was, however, another question. Of course, she might write to Willie ; only writing is seldom satisfactory, and written words are more easily explained away than spoken ones. Besides, she was dying to see her boy. She had made up her mind that she would be allowed to see him at least once, and to tell her that she must surrender that hope was like telling a starving man that he must not eat. One scarcely blames a starving man if he steals the food which is denied to him; so that Marcia may perhaps be excused for considering how she might effect a surreptitious entrance into Sir George Brett's house in Portman Square. But the longer she considered this the more impossible did it appear to her to attempt anything of the kind. She had not courage enough to dress herself up in some disguise; she had not imagination enough to invent a story which would insure her admission, nor had she any means of guessing at what hour Willie would be likely to be at home and his uncle and Her one idea was to tip the butler and appeal to his compassion-which perhaps was not such a bad idea, after all, seeing that Sir George was a little bit too rich to be tipped, and that he apparently did not know the meaning of pity. But if there was a human being more destitute of pity than Sir George, that wretch was unquestionably his wife; and Marcia, who was well acquainted with Lady Brett's habit of driving slowly round and round the Park every day between the hours of four and six, thought it only prudent to deliver her first assault upon the citadel at a time of day when the mistress of the establishment was almost certain to be absent. Willie, it was true, would probably be absent also; but the butler, at all events, would be at his post, and from that functionary useful information might be obtained.

aunt out.

She set forth with some trepidation, yet with a determination not to be baulked of her purpose which was perhaps as serviceable to her as any definite plan would have been. By hook or by crook she meant to get speech of her son, and a mother who has formed a resolution of that kind is a difficult person to defeat. Sir George quite thought that he had defeated her; but then Sir George laboured under the double disadvantage of being a man and a rather stupid one into the bargain.

(To be continued.)

Court Functions.

BY A DÉBUTANTE.

THE pleasures of "coming out" are not exactly unalloyed. Much as girls must look forward to the moment of their début into society, they must, more or less, dread the ordeal-at least, I did. The part that seemed to me most trying was my presentation to Royalty. I had heard something of Court formalities, of the rigid etiquette maintained, of the crowds of smart people, of the still smarter and more august personages the centre of all. My father, I remembered, had once dined at Osborne in a special costume which I never saw him wear, but which, from his description, must have been rather like an acrobat's or a male dancer's. He told me how they all waited for the Queen in two rows, gentlemen on one side, ladies opposite, just as if they were going to dance Sir Roger de Coverley. The highest in rank were furthest from the door through which the Queen was to make her entrance. When Her Majesty appeared she passed through the open ranks straight in to dinner, then the guests turned and followed her two and two to their places in the hall. During dinner there was no conversation except in whispers, unless the Queen especially addressed someone, and afterwards everybody stood up in the drawing-room, while the Queen came round and talked to each in turn. All this made me feel that going to Court was a serious undertaking. However, every girl did it; it was sure to be a wonderful sight; I should have my father and mother to take care of me, and of course I could not come out properly till I had kissed the Queen's hand. So I tried to forget the possible difficulties of the great event, and concentrated myself upon the minor but more present anxieties. There was first the date to be fixed, but this my parents settled for me, choosing one of the later drawing-rooms, so as to give us