flourish of the gloves she had not yet put on, she ran out of the room. Rachel gave a little touch to her train, and followed her in more sober fashion.

While Rachel and Tiny Kingston were thus talking of her over the fire, Etrenne Farrant was dressing in her own room at home.

Her maid was fastening her gown, a very pretty gown of a soft apricot colour. Yellow, in all its shades, seemed to have been made for Etrenne Farrant; nothing else so heightened and set off her lovely brunette colouring, and she very rarely wore any other colour. She stood, rather impatiently, while the woman finished what she was doing; and then, "You can go, Wilson," she said; "I can do the rest myself. Mind you don't forget anything that I said I should want; and let me know when the carriage is here." The woman left the room, and Etrenne flung her cloak round her, and then sat down in an arm-chair, looking into the fire. Over her pretty face there crept countless varying expressions as she gazed with unseeing eyes at the flames. She was thinking tonight as she had done on that summer afternoon nine months before, when she sat and looked at the sunshine on the river from Mr. Reid's house-boat - of Keith Brydain.

Since the day when she had been constrained, on account of her mother's illness, to postpone the dinner invitation Mrs. Farrant had, at her request, sent to Brydain, her wish to see more of him had, instead of dying away, strengthened and deepened. Perhaps part of this was feminine contrariety. If she had seen Brydain then she might have still liked him, and even gone so far as to look upon him as a pleasant friend, and then her interest in him might have ended. But, as it was, the suddenly broken-off acquaintance was, to her, tantalising and irritating in its incompleteness. Throughout the long winter in Algiers, she had, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously, let her mind revert frequently to the interest Brydain's personality had possessed for her.

It was in vain that she told herself that he was interesting, no doubt, at first, but that when she knew him well, he would turn out to be quite as dull as every other young man. There was an interest about the remembrance of him which would not be dispelled by the most practical reasoning on her part; and her desire to

meet him again strengthened with every effort to laugh it away.

She was almost as gratified as she was surprised when she saw his name on the Steinway Hall programme, and she watched him when he appeared, and afterwards when she congratulated him, with her curiosity doubled by the halo of his interesting position that day. On the afternoon when he came to her mother's house, some of her curiosity had been satisfied. She had developed his acquaintance in the conversation they had, and with the developement had come increased appreciation of him, accentuated for her by the instinctive contrast she drew between Brydain and the other two young men.

This had been followed by the rehearsals. Seeing him so frequently had not, as she had argued in Algiers that it inevitably must, disillusioned her. She had grown with each rehearsal to like him more and more. Etrenne did not disguise from herself the fact, of which she had been unconscious at the time, that it was because he had asked it that she had consented to sing the part; and further, that it was to satisfy him, and fulfil his wishes, that she had taken infinite pains to perfect herself in it. Hers was not a painstaking nature, and all effort was unaccustomed and difficult to her. She did not try to hide from herself either the fact that each rehearsal had left her with a greater impatience for the next to come; and that in each the interest in Brydain which she had now learned to own as a liking, had strengthened until it was now very strong.

She had not been aware, until the day before, when they were left alone in the Kingstons' drawing-room, how strong it was. As Brydain took her hand in his to fasten her glove, she had, all at once, thought of him no longer as a friend she liked, but as a man she might easily learn to love. Such a light had never flashed on her before, and she had found it bewildering in its suddenness. Brydain was so utterly unlike all the men whom Etrenne had as yet associated with the idea of love or lovers, that no idea of him as such had ever hitherto entered her head. was completely dissociated, by this dissimilarity, from any such train of ideas, to her mind. Now, however, it was all altered; she knew, as she drove home from the Kingstons' that afternoon, that the next time she saw Brydain she should have to meet him on different terms; and

He

as she sat gazing into the fire, she was thinking what those terms were to be.

She was by no means convinced that he had any feelings for her; indeed, she very much doubted if it were so. He had not shown her the existence of such. And she was naturally determined not to betray the existence of hers for him, under the circumstances. She would scarcely own, even now to herself, that they existed.

"Fallen in love!" she said angrily to herself, as she twisted the riband of her cloak into a knot with restless fingers. "No-it's nothing of the kind! I've not done anything so humiliating and foolish. I am not in love with Mr. Brydain !"

At this moment Wilson knocked at her door to say that the carriage was waiting; and with nothing more definite than an overwhelming sense of constraint at the thought of their meeting, she rose and went to say good-night to her mother before starting.

Mrs. Farrant, who had not improved in health during the last few weeks, was, to her own vexation and disappointment, by no means well enough to accompany her daughter.

In a very short time Etrenne was following her name into Mrs. Kingston's drawingroom. It was crowded, and, after her greeting to her hostess, she became aware, to her relief, that Brydain was nowhere visible; and also that she was scarcely likely to be thrown in any contact with him except where the immediate neighbourhood of crowds of other people would take away all constraint. Etrenne's set was much the same as the Kingstons', and she was instantly claimed on all sides by acquaintances. One or other of them engaged her until all the first part of the programme was gone through. She only once caught sight of Brydain, in the extreme distance, talking to Mr. Lennard, before Tiny came up to her and said that there were only two songs before the operetta, and suggested that she should come

and dress. She acquiesced, and when she came down in her large hat and white frock ready to sing, she was so intent on a mental inventory of all her weak places in the music that she hardly realised that it was Brydain who met her at the side door of the drawing-room and said, as simply as if they had met before :

"I am so glad you're ready. How awfully nice that get-up is!"

He waited one moment, at her request, for Miss Armitage, who arrived directly, and then he took them both into the space cleared for them in the drawing-room, and Rachel began the introductory music.

Three-quarters of an hour later every one in the crowded drawing-room was congratulating Mrs. Kingston on the success of the operetta.

Brydain, after being detained to hear a grim word of amused approval from Mr. Lennard and a well-satisfied comment from Tredennis, had escaped downstairs to change his dress and to take a moment's breathing space. As he came up the stairs again on his return, he saw, descending the flight above, Etrenne, who had been bent on the same errand, and had changed her picturesque white frock for her ordinary evening gown. They met on the landing. There was on the landing a very wide recess, almost big enough to be called a small room. It was fitted with couches and cushions, and to-night it was full of flowers and plants. It was empty at the moment, and Brydain drew Etrenne into it with a quick gesture.

"I wanted to thank you," he said. "You were admirable! You made it all go!"

"Miss Armitage did that, I think. You should thank her," Etrenne answered.

"It is you I want to thank," he said. Etrenne was about to repeat her words when, looking up at him, her lovely grey eyes fell under his gaze.

"I am very glad you were pleased," she

said.

No. 175.-THIRD SERIES.

PRICE TWOPENCE.

Sibyl was sheltered-she yet began to look back on her German life as a sweet

BY ESME STUART.

happy time when he had cared for her without her knowing it, and that other

Greystone," etc. etc.

CHAPTER LVI. A COUNTERPART. NAN EVANS had to remind herself that children are not always like their parents before she could force herself to interview Austin in person. Of course, since her return home Grace had often mentioned Mr. Gordon, and Sibyl was fond of recounting anecdotes of Mr. Jones and his tutor, so that, like the sisters, Nan took it for granted that no connection existed between that Mr. Gordon and the Warren.

She, moreover, strongly suspected that Grace was not quite heart-whole, and one day she tested her idea.

"I fancy, child, that Mr. Gordon must have had some reason for being so very kind to you both."

Grace blushed; she was too truthful to deny.

"Yes, I think he had; but you know, Nan, it can never be."

"I don't know any such thing. However, we may as well wait till he comes again; if he is worth anything I think he will."

Grace, too, sometimes wondered if he would ever care to come again and ask her the same question; but surely that was impossible. She had been too certain, too determined with her "No," to make it probable. Though she was contented with her present life-contented chiefly because she was with Nan, and because

she all the time longed to fly to him for love and happiness, and longed to give him the wealth of her woman's heart.

Where was he now? How would he find out where she was? Would he ask the Professorin Grace had her own treasures, which were very sacred to her. That note he had written to her, how precious it was, how she loved it; how often she read it when she was alone!

As for Sibyl, she was gradually getting back her health, but she would never be the spoilt child she had been. She was a woman now, and a woman saddened somewhat by the folly which had nearly ruined her; but Nan was very gentle with her; she never alluded to the past, never reproached her with it.

It was in the midst of this quiet household that Austin suddenly made his appearance in the way related; and it was only when she read the card that the truth burst upon Nan.

When he was gone she tried to compose herself. She felt that nothing would ever allow her to let Grace marry the son of that woman; besides, he was ignorant who Grace really was, and when he did know, there was no likelihood of his going on with the courtship. Nan was a decided person, and she settled instantly that Mr. Gordon should be forbidden the house once for all, that her child should not have the sorrow of seeing him again, or of being led into further trouble through him. If he wrote she would not let Grace read the letter.

VOL. VII.-THIRD SERIES.

175

Grace found her still standing with the card in her hand when she came into the

room.

Who was it wanted to see you, Nan?" asked Grace, innocently, though she often asked the question, hoping that other name would be said, and to-day it was said.

"It was Mr. Austin Gordon, Grace, the gentleman you told me about whom you knew in Germany."

"Was it?" Grace sat down trembling a little. "Did he ask after me? Didn't he wish to see me? Oh, Nan, he was so good to us; I can never forget it."

"But you must, Grace, my child-see," and she handed Grace the card.

"The Warren." The words floated before her; then they danced up and down as if written in fiery characters; and then Grace knew that Nan was beside her, saying:

"Grace, you must forget him, you must; he is that woman's son."

"And I never guessed it. Yes, yes, I must forget him; and if he knew-Nan, I must tell him. He will think I have deceived him; he will"

"What does it matter what he thinks? When he knows he will think no more of you. Oh, Grace, my darling, who could have guessed that such a thing would have happened My poor dear, try and be brave."

But Grace rejected even Nan's comfort. She had a hard, hard victory to win, and she must fight it out by herself, and no one must know what it cost her. Henceforth all her pleasant memories were but as gall to her; all the love she had given she felt had been given in vain. "When he knows"-so thought Grace-" he will give me up, give up caring for me, give up even the thought of me which he said would always be with him."

Why was Heaven so hard to her? Why was her life to be all cheerless, loveless, because her father had been a bad man? The sins of the fathers visited upon the children is a very terrible judgement when it overtakes the children and they see that it has overtaken them.

Now and then Grace said: "I will conquer the grief; I will root it out," and then she found herself floating back in fancy to the German wood and the shady spot where he had said such kind words; or worse still to the deserted avenue in the gardens, where he had offered her all he had to give. Such struggles and such victories

are of daily occurrence; every day in some spot a human heart is breaking because of the same old, old story of lost love, the only love which it considers to be of supreme value, above all other love, and which in some mad moments that being would almost barter life to enjoy, if only for a few moments.

This was the first real trouble in the new home; but Grace was so good, so brave, that she was anxious to hide it from her loving Nan and from little Sibyl; but Sibyl was far more thoughtful and far more observant now than in past days. She had gone through a school of bitter adversity, and she knew its secret signs.

Then Sibyl questioned Nan, and Nan, who was too honest and too blunt to keep a secret that was not really important, soon blurted it out.

"That man, Sibyl, is the son of the woman who let you go out unprotected into that cruel world."

She paused, and Sibyl blushed as she said, thinking of many things:

"Do you really mean, Nan, that Austin Gordon is her son? And we saw so much of him at Unterberg. I never did like him as much as Grace did, and now I know why. Yes, I think I had an instinct. How could he dare to come and seek us out again?"

"He did not know who you were; but I dare say he will soon find it out, and then he will not trouble us again with his presence."

Then that morning Nan, taking up the paper, read the announcement of the marriage of Miss Beatrice Gordon and Captain Colin Grant. Even the name of the church was mentioned, where Nan had, in former days, half hoped she might see her own children married. Then the stern woman threw away the paper, feeling how unjust the world could be, little knowing that there was more peace in her own home than among the wedding party at the Warren.

Others were in their home now, and the bright family party about which Austin had spoken to Grace were enjoying all that which had once been theirs. Grace hid away the paper from Sibyl, she did not want to rouse once more her angry feelings; and so the three settled down again to that happy feminine home life which many persons refuse to believe in, but which has its own pleasures and fewer troubles than are found in married life.

One day the Vicar of the parish called