upon the graceful, bare arms that lie folded on the balcony. Seen thus in the moonlight, her bright hair falling around her shoulders, her childish face grown pensive, she seems to Roger as fair a little creature as ever blessed man's vision in this prosaic world; and his pulse quickens. The balconies are distant about four or five feet from each other. Leaning across the giddy intervening space, two persons of steady nerves might easily clasp hands, or, at least, touch fingers, if they were so minded. They are alone together, he and this girlabsolutely alone, as were the first pair of lovers in Eden; and yet impassably divided, as their lives are destined in very fact to be, for evermore. And Roger's pulse quickens.

During a great many years in India, I believe firmly (without endorsing Rosie's sentimentalities in general) that the image of his first love did blind Roger Temple to most other women's attractions. But that was during the lifetime of the successive husbands, his rivals; while his passion remained hopeless, theoretic, intangible. Free, he continued faithful; bound-well, we will not say that his fidelity for a moment runs any serious danger; but he is undeniably more open to alien impressions than he used to be in his Indian days. Every man living, above the level of the savage, has a craving after contrast, as strong, pretty nearly, as the mere physical ones for food and drink. In India, Rose Shelmadeane-the modest, flower-faced Rose of his imagination -was his contrast, the delightful ideal reverse, to all the women he lived amongst. Now, alas! now, every woman who is fresh and natural, who does not wear pearl-powder, does not demand tawdry compliments as a right, possesses for Roger Temple all the fatal charm of antithesis.

"Your philosophy is beyond your years, señora. Surely nothing should seem so good as laughter in one's youth."

"Youth!" echoes Belinda, raising her head quickly, and forgetting the Spanish accent and her assumed character together. "What have I to do with youth, sir? When was I young? Why, from the time I was thirteen

And then her eyes meet Roger's, full, full in the moonlight. She stops and droops her face, crimsoning.

"Plenty of hard training has come to me in my life, señor," she goes on after a space, but without lifting her eyes again to his. "Sometimes I feel, a little too keenly, how well my name of Lágrimas fits me. But why should I talk of such things to-night? You know my country, Spain ?" turning to him with the most irresistible of all coquetry, the coquetry that is born of ignorance. "No? Well, you should run down there some day, now that you are so near. I will be your guide, if you choose."

"Done!" says Roger gaily. "It is a bargain that we take a Spanish tour together, Señora Lágrimas, is it not ?"

66

"I don't think I said anything about 'together,' did I? But never mind about that. Yes, we can go down to Granada first, if you like. It will take us about a week to see the Alhambra, and then-but is his excellency quite sure," pointedly, "that his time is his own?that his friends will give him leave of absence?"

“Oh, no question of that," says Roger, with the airy assurance of an unfettered man. "The doubt is, rather, will the Señora Lágrimas

keep her promise ?"

"No question of that!" Ready, after three minutes' temptation, to be led captive by the first strolling actress who accosts him from a balcony! So much for engaged men, thinks Belinda. So much for the romance of two young hearts, the fidelity of a lifetime, et cetera. Let us try this devoted lover of Rose's a little further.

"I mentioned your friends, señor, because I know that you are not alone here. You may not have noticed me, but I certainly saw you to-night at the casino, with ladies."

“At the

Roger Temple looks the very picture of innocence. casino?" he repeats. "With ladies? Ah, to be sure, I believe I did speak to some English acquaintances of mine for a few minutes."

"There was an ugly little girl, for one-a girl very sunburnt, very ill-drest; you danced a waltz with her; and another lady, not so young. Your mamma, probably, señor ?"

Stepmamma," assents Roger, unblushingly, "and the stepmamma, also, of the little sunburnt girl with whom I danced."

"Consequently, you and the girl are'

"Ah, that is a knotty point-the precise relationship between that young lady and myself. I will not allow you to call her ugly, though, Señora Lágrimas. Sunburnt she is; ill-drest she may be ; ugly, never."

"Well, for my part, I do not see a good feature in the young person's face," says Lágrimas, with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders. "A skin like a gipsy's, a wide mouth, a low forehead."

Magnificent eyes and eyelashes, teeth like ivory, graceful little hands and feet, and the sweetest smile, when she chooses to smile, in the world."

"I should think her a vite temper, judging by her expression, and as to her manners-I have been here some time, señor, I know the girl by sight and by reputation. She plays boys' games with boys; robs henroosts after dusk with that dog of hers; she talksswears, some people will tell you-like a gamin of the streets, and".

"And for each and all of these small oddities I like her the better," interrupts Roger warmly. "Belinda is just the kind of girl to grow into the most charming of women in time."

"A charming woman! After the pattern of the other lady, who is not so young, the stepmamma ?”

"No; not after that pattern, precisely, señora. Your vast experience must have taught you, surely, that there are more kinds of charming women in the world than one. Belinda has been neg allowed to run a little too wild, hitherto; but circumstances, I am happy to say, will place her under my guidance now."

("Will they? will they, indeed, Captain Temple?" interpolates Belinda, mentally. "We shall see more about that by-and-bye.")

"She will live in my house, will stand to me in the position of a daughter, and I mean to reform her."

"Ah, heavens, how praiseworthy! How Christian! Reform Belinda? With the aid of a severe English governess and a staff of attendant pastors and masters, of course?"

"Well, no," answers Roger. "I have no great belief in severe English governesses, neither are pastors or masters very much more to my taste. I shall reform Belinda, as much as she needs reforming, by kindness alone. It strikes me that what the poor little girl wants is-not sternness, but love."

Belinda turns her head away with a jerk; her throat swells, the big tears rise in her eyes. If he had said anything but this, if he had called her ugly, wicked, any hard name he chose, she could have borne it better.

"Belinda should be extremely grateful for your-your pity," she remarks, as soon as she can command her voice enough to speak. "For my part, I don't in the least value that kind of regard."

"No? And what kind of regard do you value, may I ask?" says Roger Temple, his tone softening.

"Ah-what kind? When I have known you a little longer than ten minutes I will tell you.'

"The day we visit the Alhambra together, for instance ?"

Perhaps. Meantime, in Belinda's name, I thank you a thousand times for the pity you are charitable enough to bestow upon her. Good-night, señor. I leave you to think over your fine projects of reformation alone."

And with a mocking reverence "Lágrimas" salutes him; then, assuming the air of a princess, at least, and with a grand sweep of her rustling silken train, leaves the balcony.

She quits him, I say, with the air of a princess; the moment she is out of sight, turns, peeps through a rent in the dilapidated venetian blind, listens with eager, breathless curiosity to find out what Roger Temple will do next.

Captain Temple for a minute or two keeps silence. Then, "Señora, Señora Lágrimas," he cries, softly.

But no answer comes to his appeal.

Only one word-do you live here? Is there any chance of my seeing you again to-morrow night ?"

Belinda is mute as fate.

"I shall listen for your voice towards eleven o'clock. If you do not take pity on me, I shall remain out here all night, remember, heart-broken."

"So much for engaged men, I say," thinks Belinda. “Oh, if I was really wicked, if I was half as bad as they give me credit for, could we not have a comedy in earnest out of all this ?"

She retreats towards the middle of the room, and under her voice sings another verse of the serenade.

"Es tanta la hambre que tengo,

Que ahora mismo me comiera,
Los hierros de ese balcon

Y el cuerpo de mi morena!”

Then she steals back to the window to listen, her heart beating till she can hear it beat, her very finger-tips tingling with excitement, so carried away is she by this rôle of temptress that she is playing, the most fascinating rôle (save one, perhaps), of the whole little repertory of woman's life.

"The balconies are not very far apart, señora," remarks Roger, presently. "It would be quite possible for a desperate man to leap from one to the other."

A half-suppressed malicious laugh is the señora's only reply to this thrilling suggestion.

"I shall certainly make the attempt before long, and if I fail, mind-if I fall and am drowned, stifled, rather, in the harbour mud below, my death" (plaintively)" will be upon your conscience."

A laugh, rather more malicious, rather louder than before, is her reply.

"Señora Lágrimas! For the last time, will you or will you not come out and speak to me?"

And once more Belinda's silence says "No."

"I give you three chances.-Señora Lágrimas !" Silence.

Lágrimas!"

Silence.

"Belinda, my dear!"

She flashes out upon him like a storm-wind; her lips apart, her eyes gleaming so that they eclipse the saint's diamonds on her throat.

"You-you dare to say you recognised me all the time?" This she asks him as soon as her indignation gives her breath to speak. "I recognised you all the time," Roger confesses, humbly. "I

knew you when I was lighting my pipe; I believe, before you saw me at all. Why in the world should I not recognise you, my dear

child ?"

"Because I had been fool enough to disguise myself under this rubbish." With a fierce little gesture she apostrophizes Miss Burke's fine silk. "Because-oh! if I had known, if I could have guessed that you, of all people, would see me! And the nonsense you talked, sir; the nonsense you dared to talk, knowing it to be me!"

"We have been talking very pleasantly," answers Roger Temple. "I cannot say I remember talking any particular nonsense.

"What! not when you told me, to my face, that circumstances had put me under your guidance; that you meant to reform me? You, to reform me!"

"It was a rash speech, I admit; I am not so sure that it was nonsense."

"And then our tour in Spain; but you shall keep to that-you shall keep to that, Captain Temple! Whatever Rose says, and whether the scheme is up to the Miss Ingram standard of propriety, or beneath it, I mean to hold you to your word. We are going to spend a week in Granada together, you and I."

"Of course, Rosie with us. What could be pleasanter? Rosie with us, and ".

"And Augustus Jones, too, if you please," interrupts Belinda, a curiously abrupt transition in her voice. "In the selfishness of your own happiness, you and Rose, you seem entirely to forget other peoples'. I go nowhere without Augustus, now."

"Without Augustus?" repeats Roger, blankly. "Why, Belinda, is it possible-can you mean

"I mean that I will go nowhere without Mr. Jones. Now, come, Captain Temple, or, as we are discussing family matters, let me call you by a sweeter future name come now, steppapa, don't pretend. No concealment between near and dear relatives. As if you and Rosie did not know everything about my poor Augustus, just as well as I do."

"I should be very sorry to know one thing," says Roger, culpably negligent of his future matchmaking duties as a parent. "I should be very sorry to know that you cared seriously, young, ignorant of life as you are, for a person like-Jones!" It seems as though the obnoxious monosyllable would nearly choke him.

"Care! And, pray, who said anything about caring, sir? I am going to marry Mr. Jones-we settled the whole affair to-nightmarry, not care for him."

Marry, not care for him! As much repulsion as a man can feel, theoretically, towards a distractingly pretty little girl, not five feet distant from him in the moonlight, Roger feels at this moment

VOL. XXXVIII.

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