fanciful, is dear Lady Harriet! I would not like her to think we made any difference in our meals because she stayed. ‘Simple elegance,’ as I tell her, ‘always is what we aim at.’ But still you could put out the best service, and arrange some flowers, and ask cook what there is for dinner that she could send us for lunch, and make it all look pretty, and impromptu, and natural. I think you had better stay at home, Cynthia; and then you could fetch Molly from the Miss Brownings’ in the afternoon, you know, and you two could take a walk together.”

“After Lady Harriet was fairly gone! I understand, mamma. Off with you, Molly! Make haste, or Lady Harriet may come and ask for you as well as mamma! I’ll take care and forget where you are going to, so that no one shall learn from me where you are, and I’ll answer for mamma’s loss of memory.”

“Child! what nonsense you talk; you quite confuse me with being so silly,” said Mrs. Gibson, fluttered and annoyed as she usually was with the Lilliputian darts Cynthia flung at her. She had recourse to her accustomed feckless piece of retaliation—bestowing some favour on Molly; and this did not hurt Cynthia one whit.

“Molly, darling, there’s a very cold wind, though it looks so fine. You had better put on my Indian shawl; and it will look so pretty, too, on your grey gown—scarlet and grey; it’s not everybody I would lend it to, but you’re so careful.”

“Thank you,” said Molly: and she left Mrs. Gibson in careless uncertainty as to whether her offer would be accepted or not.

Lady Harriet was sorry to miss Molly, as she was fond of the girl; but, as she perfectly agreed with Mrs. Gibson’s truism about “constancy” and “old friends,” she saw no occasion for saying any more about the affair, but sat down in a little low chair with her feet on the fender. This said fender was made of bright, bright steel, and was strictly tabooed to all household and plebeian feet; indeed the position, if they assumed it, was considered low-bred and vulgar.

“That’s right, dear Lady Harriet! you can’t think what a pleasure it is to me to welcome you at my own fireside, into my humble home.”

“Humble! now, Clare, that’s a little bit of nonsense, begging your pardon. I don’t call this pretty little drawing-room a bit of a ‘humble home.’ It’s as full of comforts, and of pretty things too, as any room of its size can be.”

“Ah! how small you must feel it! even I had to reconcile myself to it at first.”

“Well! perhaps your school-room was larger, but remember how bare it was, how empty of anything but deal tables, and forms, and mats. Oh, indeed, Clare, I quite agree with mamma, who always says you have done very well for yourself; and Mr. Gibson too! What an agreeable, well-informed man!”

“Yes, he is,” said his wife slowly, as if she did not like to relinquish her rôle of a victim to circumstances quite immediately. “He is very agreeable, very; only we see so little of him; and of course he comes home tired and hungry, and not inclined to talk to his own family, and apt to go to sleep.”

“Come, come!” said Lady Harriet, “I’m going to have my turn now. We’ve had the complaint of a doctor’s wife; now hear the moans of a peer’s daughter! Our house is so overrun with visitors! and literally to- day I have come to you for a little solitude.”

“Solitude!” exclaimed Mrs. Gibson. “Would you rather be alone?” slightly aggrieved.

“No, you dear silly woman; my solitude requires a listener, to whom I may say, ‘how sweet is solitude!’ But I am tired of the responsibility of entertaining. Papa is so open-hearted, he asks every friend he meets with to come and pay us a visit. Mamma is really a great invalid; but she does not choose to give