in public with one or more devoted slaves. Now, you know, to get and keep these slaves, unless a woman is exceptionally beautiful, she must employ a certain amount of pains, and a good deal more dissimulation. She must first attract, then keep them amused, and allow them to believe that she reciprocates their regard, in a measure, at all events, for, as you and I know, Guy, there are precious few men who are inclined to waste their time on a woman they know to be utterly indifferent to them, and from whom nothing is to be hoped."

"I don't know," interposes the other. "Some fellows are so confoundedly vain, they think if a woman looks at them she's dying for them.”

"Yes, some do, and a clever woman has a very easy task with them; the least pressure of the hand, one or two bewildering

glances, and a woman ought always to be able to say with her eyes twenty times more than she means. I've spent a certain number of years of my life in trying to be up to their machinations, and I've come to the conclusion that the most fascinating woman in the world, the one a man could swear was the most impassioned, is the one who feels absolutely nothing."

"Pshaw!" cries Guy, impatiently flinging away the end of his cigar, and lighting another. "My dear old boy, you're too clever by half. You're like Paul, to whom What's-his-name said, 'Much learning hath made thee mad' !"

"I'm right this time, and I'll explain how it is. Women who feel very much—” "Oh! you admit that some of them

do ?"

"Hang it! don't interrupt so.' "All right-go on."

"Women who feel very much are sure to be either too contained or too demonstrative. The one who feels nothing knows exactly what will make her most fascinating in the glamoured eyes of her lover, and in consequence succeeds to perfection. If a man could sometimes see the lady-love he has just left, with a reeling, intoxicated brain, and the profound conviction that she is the most heavenly being on earth, awfully, devotedly fond of him, of course,-if he could hear the sigh of relief when the door closes upon him, and see the triumphant flash of her eyes at the memory of how she has befooled him, it might make him feel rather small, but it would be a rattling good thing for him, all the same. In society you see a dozen fellows round the object of your affections, and perhaps you are ass enough to believe your

self the only favoured one.

What do you

suppose is her attraction for them ?-has she never given encouragement to anyone but you?"

"Well, old boy," says Guy, rising to his feet, "they seem to have taken you into their confidence, and exposed their hands pretty freely; but as they haven't done me the same favour, I shall take the liberty of continuing to believe that there are heaps of good, virtuous, pure women going about the world. Of course there are plenty of all sorts; but, considering the sort of life we lead, hang me if I know how we're considered worthy to have a good woman's happiness entrusted to us!"

"Your sentiments do you credit," retorts the other, with sarcasm. "You must get up a leeture on the subject for afternoon teas this season."

"All right," says Guy, good-humoured

ly.

"Now I'm off. What are you going

to do to-morrow ?"

"I have promised to drive Mrs. Scarlett a few miles out of Paris, to see some old friends. But dine with us, if you can, at the Maison Dorée to-morrow, and we will go somewhere afterwards."

So they part. Guy is not the least inclined to sleep, so he lights another cigar and goes out into the street. The rain has ceased, it is a bright night, and he strolls about lost in thought—one thought, one idea-the perfections of his ladye-love. He still sees her, hears her voice, feels her hand in his, and he wonders in his heart if such enormous happiness is ever given to a man as to possess a woman for whom he feels what he does for Milly Scarlett. Such a woman false! tire of such a woman! Pshaw! Old Vivian must be beginning to dote. Oh! the unutterable happiness of