"What we don't say. Perhaps that's just as well, sometimes," said Lord Devereux, good-naturedly com how's a man with only a little money It was so notorious that Sir Charles Vaux did not spend a sixpence upon any one but himself, and that, besides being a very rich man, he was the greatest screw in England, that Colonel de Tabley said cynically: "Come, Vaux, my good fellow, even Devereux can't give you the compassion he was wasting just now on the working poor of London." "I wish you would not talk like that," Geraldine said earnestly. "When was compassion ever wasted, especially upon these people, who are so much more brave, more self-denying, and more patient, than we are? I know something of the poor, for mamma always intrusted them to me at Oldcourt; and I do assure you that you can have no idea how heroically and uncomplainingly they bear their troubles, and how grateful they are for very small kindnesses. They make so much less of their difficulties than we do-they accept them; perhaps they talk of them a good deal more than we should; but, at any rate, they face them with courage and a marvellous endurance; and they don't live an unreal life, as we do: that is what I hate and despise. I can't help seeing it; every thing with us is so unreal. We say what we don't think, and we think-" She paused, for her husband was looking very black-whether at her or at his letters she could not imagine. But Colonel de Tabley, who was clever despite his indolence, was charmed by the brightness of Geraldine's manner, and by the eager, lovely, tell-tale face which was turned to him. He had never seen her so excited before. "We think what, Mrs. Trevelyan? We don't all think of other people as you do. I am afraid we are too apt to forget them and their troubles. But why do you say our lives are so unreal? They are not as unreal as are those of the French, surely? though perhaps we are less in earnest than the Germans-at all events, than they have proved themselves lately." "Oh, it's not that. I dare say, as a nation, we are not unreal; but what is called society is unreal. The last thing in the world people ever are is to be themselves; and sometimes I am afraid it may be catching, and that soon no one will dare to be true, or kind, or unselfish." Arthur l'Estrange was sitting next to her, and his low "You will never be afraid, that I can answer for," was unheard by any but herself; for Lord Devereux, in his cheery, noisy voice, replied: "Well, when you are going to establish Mrs. Goodman here in your place, let me know; for, although she is a nice, pretty young woman enough, with very good manners, and might not do so very badly either, perhaps John, to whom she introduced me the other day at the lodge-gate, and whom | keepers received many a jobation, and she seems to think a paragon of perfection, would hardly look so well at Trevelyan as its present master." "I want to speak to you, Geraldine, when you have finished your breakfast," interrupted Colonel Trevelyan, rather rudely; and he strode out of the room, collecting a heap of papers and letters in which he had seemed immersed. His young wife prattled on gayly, though the tell-tale color mounted to her cheek; but it was only when she had poured out Arthur's second cup of tea and seen to all his wants, that | she obeyed her husband's mandate. Too bad, I must say, of Trevelyan," exclaimed Colonel de Tabley, as soon as the door had closed on their hostess. "What on earth he wants with that old hag here I cannot possibly imagine." But a warning glance from Lord Devereux checked his further speech, and Sir Charles Vaux's astonished glances rested first on one and then on the other. of the men, but met with no explanation. Meantime Geraldine has repaired to her husband's study: a name given more in derision could hardly be imagined, inasmuch as, although Colonel Trevelyan was not by any means wanting in ability, he had never studied in his life. This room was, however, his sanctum, decorated with some beautiful old armor, spoiled by some hideous prints of prize - fighting and prizefighters, and littered with boxinggloves, foils, etc. Here, in this room, the unfortunate steward was sent for to be sworn at, the luckless game into it was shown any ill-advised villager who came to Colonel Trevelyan with his grievances, and who was pretty sure to register a mental vow that it should be the last time he ventured into the lion's den. Hither our heroine repaired to receive her husband's orders-her heart beating fast, her manner dignified and calm, though slightly embarrassed, for the morning's storm was a mystery to her. "I tell you what it is, Geraldine; Ì will have no nonsense. The duchess has been accustomed to consider Trevelyan as a sort of second home whenever her husband can spare her from his sick-room. She has always proposed herself in this manner, and named her own day. You will please to order the oriel room to be got ready for her, and to receive her courteously as my guest; that is all you will be expected to do. She is going to bring her own horses, and will probably hunt three days a week; so she will not be the least in your way-in fact, she so much prefers men's society and pursuits to women's, that you will probably see little of her; and at any rate, whether you like it or not, I am going to be master in my own house, and the sooner you learn that the better." "Indeed, Edmund, you misunderstand me. I was only surprised,” our heroine answered gently, though there was a flash in her blue eyes which should have warned Colonel Trevelyan that he had gone too far. "You told me in one of your letters last week, that we were to go to London the be "I WOULD RATHER NOT." 49 ginning of January, and as to the men, | moon; but he had always been courthey all leave to-morrow morning- teous and kind to her for the first they told me so-except Mr. l'Estrange, who goes this evening." "Goes this evening, does he? That won't do; the duchess particularly wants to meet him. She says he is a genius and a lion, and all that sort of rubbish, and that she has always wanted him for her parties, but he is difficile, it seems, and goes out little. I'll ask him to stay;" and the Colonel strode to the door, and returned after a few minutes, in no good humor, having been unsuccessful in his mission. "Curse the fellow!" he muttered; "he's a stuck-up prig. Much obliged, but would not; and so on. I say, you ask him, Geraldine; no man likes to refuse a lady, and a pretty one too." The last sentence was said sneeringly, though it was meant as a sort of amende, and he was quite unprepared for Geraldine's reply. The color flushed into her face, but she answered quietly, "I would rather not." "You would rather not, would you! It seems, madam, you would rather do nothing to oblige me; but suppose I insist upon your doing what I suggest; suppose I let you know that you are bound, as my wife, to carry out my will and pleasure in every thing? Don't stand there looking like an idiot, but go at once as I bid you, and ask the man to stay!" It was the first time Geraldine had suffered from her husband's violent temper. She had heard him swear at the servants, and had been a witness to one or two terrific outbursts with the courier, even in their short honey few months so exceedingly so, that the terrified household hoped their sweet young mistress had brought some spell to bear upon her haughty and arrogant lord. But her remark, though innocent enough, about the arrival of the duchess, had stung him, made too before these men of the world, who most likely guessed at his thraldom. It had really only been, that she hoped she was not coming; but it had been enough to provoke a cold and cutting retort from Colonel Trevelyan; and Geraldine was so little used to harsh words, that the tears had started to her eyes, and though the other men had not remarked them, they were quite apparent to the artist. Deeply wounded, Geraldine left her husband's room, and went in search of Mr. l'Estrange. She was too proud to show any emotion now; and it is no doubt easier to get over a feeling of anger with a person you do not heartily love than with one you do. Still, she was much hurt and disconcerted; had she been older, she would have felt it was wiser to try and recover her composure before she went on her errand; instead of which, she acted on the impulse of the moment, and at once sought the artist. was in the library writing a letter, and Geraldine's soft footfall was unheard until she stood close beside him. He Very coldly-almost haughtily for her-she said: "Mr. l'Estrange, will you oblige me, and stay with us a little longer? Colonel Trevelyan has sent me to ask you." "You are very good, I'm sure," be- | ent from the frank, bright girl he had gan Arthur, rising hastily. "Nothing painted but little more than a year ago. would give me greater pleasure; but I really am due in town some time this week. I have had a long holiday, and idleness is never good for me - I mean for those who have their bread to earn," he added, seeing her look surprised. "I am sorry," he said, "whatever I may look. But you, Mrs. Trevelyan, look very tired; and if I might suggest it, you ought to take more care of yourself, and rest a little." "No, thank you, I am going to try a walk in the garden, for I have a "Then I am to tell him you can't?" headache;" and so saying, she left she said, still very coldly. the room. ly. แ "Him!" repeated Arthur, absent Her face haunted Arthur l'Estrange all through the day-he saw it wher "Edmund," said Geraldine, "my ever he went; and even his host's first rate shooting failed to chase away the husband." Arthur's voice was colder than her remembrance. He came home earlier own as he replied: "I should be obliged if you would explain to Colonel Trevelyan that I think I have been long enough away from my work." The pain about his heart which came with those words from her lips, “Edmund, my husband," had warned Arthur that it was time for him to go -they nerved him to the effort even of refusing her. She was leaving the room, when something in her listless attitude struck him, and he followed her, fearing that he had been uncourteous. "I have not half thanked you and Colonel Trevelyan for your kindness during my visit, nor, indeed, for the flattering wish that I should prolong my stay; but, believe me, I am grateful, and extremely sorry to be obliged to refuse." "You look it," she said, almost bitterly, but with an attempt to laugh, which died away into a sort of sob. Arthur l'Estrange looked at her sadly enough now. She was so differ than the others; and before he went to his room to pack up his things, he turned into the picture-gallery, to finish a sketch he had been making of the picture by Sir Joshua. Mrs. Trevelyan was pacing up and down with the baby in her arms. Arthur apologized for the intrusion, and went up to look at the child. Its beautiful brown eyes-the only beauty it possessedwere wide open, and looked more vague than ever, and on its poor little wizened face something bright and sparkling shone. What could it be? Arthur glanced at the young mother and was enlightened-a tear had fallen on the infant's face. IRRESOLUTE. day, and asked me if he was; and then she seemed surprised that he did not take more notice, when she heard how old he was." 51 I wish you would stay, to please me; I don't know what to say to Colonel Trevelyan; he was angry this morning, and I did not like to tell Mr. l'Estrange could hardly forbear him you would not." smiling. “I am afraid I am no great judge of babies; he has very good eyes. I have never seen them open before." The pretty, pleading, pathetic face lifted to his, the childish voice, the childish speech-all touched him only too much, and shook his resolution. There were traces of tears on the face too-tears which ought not to have, been there. Then he remembered Colonel Trevelyan's haughty, moody temper, his bursts of almost insane fury, which, alas! were familiar to most of his friends, and were very generally vented on his dependants-there had been a scene with one of the keepers to-day, which had disgusted even good-natured Lord Devereux-and he shuddered when he thought how unprotected and lonely was this young Geraldine looked up brightly, delighted at the praise, and already comforted. The kind, vibrating voice had not lost its charm for her; and the young are so easily made happy. He had begun to paint now, and seemed quite engrossed. Geraldine was singing softly to the baby. Time went on; the child had fallen asleep, and the young mother had stopped singing; the light was beginning to wane; and Arthur l'Estrange was working hard and steadily at his sketch; Geraldine came up to him and stood look-girl's position, with all her luxurious ing at it. "I like it so much! surroundings. Her splendid home How well could not give her happiness; her you have caught the dreamy expres- great riches, her husband's old name sion in her face, and the sad history-all were valueless, without mutual which looks out of her eyes! I had affection and mutual support. no idea you could draw that size-you might be a miniature-painter, if you liked." "I had rather not," he said, lightly, and laughed; "my eyes would not stand it." Silence fell on them both again, and the artist continued his work. At last a servant came in to light the lamps. "I must make haste, or I sha'n't catch my train," Arthur said, looking at his watch, and beginning to put up his things. They sat on, and the nurse came to take away the baby. Still Mr. l'Estrange did not leave; there was something so mournful and pleading in Geraldine's manner; he waited, hoping to cheer her, and talking to her almost as he had done in the old studio days; he was watching the clock, though, all the time, for he did not intend actually to remain-he had made up his mind to that; he was disgusted with Colonel Trevelyan, and was too much of a gentleman to care to accept the hospitality of a man he had never |