women who had married without love.

There was a

gentle intolerance about her on that subject, which one often sees in those who have known or seen hardly anything beyond their own fortunate experience theirs is the happiest lot; but they do not always remember that it came to them; they did not find it.

Whilst Georgy and Mr. Erskine had each halfunconsciously begun the game that has sometimes been played before, she sat by quite unconscious. Her life was complete, and she never speculated upon that of others. In her own way, she was a pleasant person to have staying in the house; for, simple, and devoid of malice, she was always ready to admire other people's beauty and cleverness, and those with whom she never came in competition always liked her, and forgave her the good looks on which she never prided herself.

Georgy and Mr. Erskine were far more thrown together than most people who are visiting at the same house. They sat together through long mornings in the library, whilst Mr. Lewis was-I don't quite know where. Mr. Erskine made a show of writing, and reading the newspaper; Georgy made a show of going to busy herself most deeply up-stairs, and always thought when she had been there for half an hour that a most unconscionable time had elapsed. So most of the morning they sat and talked in the

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old oak wainscotted room, till the sunshine, which first came in through the large east window, was shining full through the three small south ones, resting on the books, and brightening up the tarnished leaves and acorns of the old-fashioned gilt frames which surrounded two looking-glasses: glasses which ministered not to vanity, for they distorted the face most painfully, and gave it a greenish colour.

Now they rode with Mr. Lewis, and now took walks alone; and when Georgy went to the garden for flowers, Mr. Erskine asked, with great innocence, -"Might not he go too?"

They must certainly have been good company for each other, judging from appearances. The inequality which there was between them, made it, on Georgy's part, like a child's liking for a grown-up person.

When two people are together, one well versed in knowledge of the world and of life; the other, ignorant of all save the feelings of one eager heart, their position must be very unequal. Georgy would speak and act sometimes in a way that might have seemed compromising to a woman of the world, only she never regarded herself of sufficient importance to be compromised. Each word, each look of his, made an indelible impression upon her; and yet Mr. Erskine could not in all equity be blamed. What is often called flirting is but the give and take of

society. One person cannot always tell the moral position of the other, or the impression which every unstudied word may produce. Many would start back with astonishment were it revealed to them in whose lives they have made the deepest marks.

Mr. Erskine was totally ignorant of what Georgy really felt for him. She pleased him for the moment, and he was too incessantly occupied to measure to a nicety the effect these pleasant hours might have upon her. Had he known the work which he was doing, he would assuredly have left it undone. Nay more, if any active kindness could have brightened the child's life, she would have received it from him, had he realised her wants.

They talked on all subjects, excepting that Georgy disliked making mention of Grainthorpe: to have been there was enough, without being condemned to talk about it. She told him many things, only never recurred to that somewhat prosaic actuality of her engagement: she several times thought of doing so, and once or twice an idea of disloyalty seemed to attach itself to the omission; but that was only a momentary reflection. "What mattered it to him whether she was engaged or not? and what need was there to mention such things to him?" so she never brought herself to do it. The joy of the day was sufficient unto itself: to like him was enough; that he should like her seriously, was an idea which

she never entertained for a moment, but "it was very good of him to talk to her a little." She made herself pleasant, too, to him; what power, what capacity, she had, was all poured out so genuinely before him. It is not often that we are our whole selves to any one; either we take too much from them, and can only please them by an hearty attempt at a self-stereotype; or timidity in ourselves, or want of sympathy from them, keep back a part of our personality. A little more worldly wisdom, and Georgy might have made calculations as to what men liked in women, thought before she spoke, and been a nice person, perhaps; only not herself.

So the first days passed, and to-morrow, Mrs. Erskine, James's mother, Mrs. Lumsden, and a corresponding complement of gentlemen would arrive to increase the party. Mrs. Lewis was down-stairs again, and all the morning she engrossed Mr. Erskine; then in the afternoon he had been walking with Mr. Lewis. Mrs. Lawrence had driven to Eastham, that she might do some shopping for the children; and Georgy, who had thought during the morning that three was a decidedly bad number for society, wandered about alone in the afternoon all through the shrubberies, where a warm wind was rustling among the stiff green hollies. Then she went into the garden, whence she brought a whole basketful of asters: they looked so gorgeous on that

dull afternoon, when nothing else bright was to be After she had put them in the large China bowls on the staircase, she sat down alone in the

seen.

drawing-room.

She could play, and had a very great gift of music; though, to her aunt's disappointment, who thought that playing did not make a show, she had no voice. There are times when, for a short while, passion can supply the place of genius: people can write verses, and good ones too, who would never again be capable of so rising above the ordinary conditions of their capacity, any more than a man who could not ride, could again take the leap which he did under stress of circumstances. Perhaps Georgy never again played to herself as she did then; so many recollections of her childhood, which seemed to have returned to her like reminiscences of fairy land, came brightly back. Then all the present, the present of those few days, which was too beautiful to be told out in any fashion-she was saying it through the music, as best she could; dreaming till her actual love was momentarily lost in the contemplation of that love. Her tears fell fast, and still she did not cease her playing; she was excited, and yet nothing startled her. It was only the fulfilment of her dream, when the folding-door was pushed open, and Mr. Erskine came out of the