impatient listener; and, even so, feel that my version fails to do his story justice. When he had quite finished, he took me in his arms and asked me if I was satisfied.

Was I satisfied? Yes-for the moment; and frankly gave him the assurance for which he asked. Listening to him, looking at him, how could I do otherwise than accept in its fullest sense every explanation given or implied? How could I pause to ask myself if, when all looked fair and open, there were any flaw, or gloze, or reservation? I did not pause, I believed. It was, therefore, in the simplest faith that, just as we were parting, I said,

"Oh, stop, Hugh! One thing more-did you never find out who it was that poor Maddalena loved, after all; and why she could not marry him?"

"I did, my darling, and a hopeless affair it was. She loved a man who no more loved her, or thought of her, than you love or think of the Grand-Duke of Zollenstrasse-am-Main."

"Poor, poor girl! But do you think, Hugh, that you could have done anything if she had confided in you that day when you met her on the heights? Do you think . . . ."

"My child, how can I tell? You might as well ask me if I believe that Tasso and Leonora would

have lived happily together all their days in the bonds of holy matrimony, if the poet had not been mad, and the lady a duchess!"

"Still, if Maddalena could have procured a divorce...."

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Barbarina," interrupted he, laughing, “you are a goose, with your ifs and supposes ! If Queen Cleopatra's nose had been an inch shorter, the face of the world would have been changed. We have that fact upon the authority of Pascal. Besides, the Holy Roman Catholic Church couples up her children very firmly indeed. I could more easily have procured a cardinal's hat for myself, than a divorce for Maddalena."

THE eventful night came at last-the night on which I was to make my debût in society. It was my first ball; excepting only the memorable night at Broomhill, years ago-but I am not, therefore, going to describe it. In brief, it was a ball like every other; crowded and stately, with blaze of lights and blush of flowers, with rustle of silk, and murmur of compliment, and, over all, the clash and clang of a military band. "Every ball," wrote one as wise as he was witty, "is a round; but not a perpetual round of pleasure." To me it was no pleasure at all, but a moral penance. I was the heroine of the evening, and would fain have been

unsought and unobserved. I was nervous; I was stared at; I was flattered by the men; I was criticised by the women; and I went through more introductions than I could ever hope to remember. Happy was I when, having taken leave of our noble entertainers, we were once more driving homewards.

"My little wife," said Hugh, circling me fondly with his arm. "My little wife, who has borne herself so well and gracefully, and of whom I have been so proud!"

"You would hardly have been proud of me, Hugh,” said I, "if you had known how frightened I was the whole time."

"I did know it, carissima, and thought you went bravely through the ordeal-looking so pretty, and so pale, too, under that coronal of diamonds!" "It is very heavy-it hurts my forehead."

"What! wearying already of the 'polish'd perturbation,' and sighing for the 'homely biggin,' my Barbarina? Tush! these are the penalties of splendour."

"Say, then, the penalties of a penalty."

"Do you mean to tell me seriously, wife, that you did not enjoy the homage lavished upon your little self this evening?"

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Seriously, husband, I did not.”

"Nor the attentions of Lord and Lady Bayham?"

"Not in the least. I thought him very dull and pompous; and her so satirical, that I dared not open my lips in her presence."

"Still, my darling, you are but mortal; and I don't believe there ever lived the woman who did not love to be well dressed and admired."

"I love to be well dressed, for you; and I love to be admired, by you-and I love both because I love you. There, sir, are you satisfied?"

"If I were not more than satisfied," replied he, "I should deserve to have you carried off from my arms by some worthier knight. By the way, I have gleaned one wheat-ear of useful information out of the barren stubble of small-talk this evening. Holford tells me that Lord Walthamstow's library has come to the hammer, and will be on sale to-morrow, and the four following days. It is an auction that I would not willingly miss. Will you come with me, Barbarina, in the morning?"

"Where will it be held?"

"At Christie and Manson's." "What, in London?"

"Unquestionably. Where else would you have it? We should try to get our old rooms at Claridge's, and....”

"No, no, Hugh-not in December, thank you. I prefer Broomhill to a dreary hotel, where I

VOL. III.

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