too shy to speak, yet never putting herself forwards; she’s quite a help to a party; and, if she has a few airs and graces, why they’re natural at her age! Now, as for dear Molly, there’s a kind of awkwardness about her—she broke one of our best china cups last time she was at a party at our house, and spilt the coffee on the new carpet; and then she got so confused that she hardly did anything but sit in a corner and hold her tongue all the rest of the evening.”

“She was so sorry for what she’d done, sister,” said Miss Phœbe, in a gentle tone of reproach; she was always faithful to Molly.

“Well, and did I say she wasn’t? but was there any need for her to be stupid all the evening after?”

“But you were rather sharp—rather displeased”——

“And I think it my duty to be sharp, ay, and cross too, when I see young folks careless. And, when I see my duty clear, I do it; I’m not one to shrink from it, and they ought to be grateful to me. It’s not every one that will take the trouble of reproving them, as Mrs. Goodenough knows. I’m very fond of Molly Gibson, very, for her own sake and for her mother’s too; I’m not sure if I don’t think she’s worth half-a- dozen Cynthias; but for all that she shouldn’t break my best china teacup, and then sit doing nothing for her livelihood all the rest of the evening.”

By this time, Mrs. Goodenough gave evident signs of being tired; Molly’s misdemeanours and Miss Browning’s broken teacup were not as exciting subjects of conversation as Mrs. Gibson’s newly-discovered good luck in having a successful London lawyer for a relation.

Mr. Kirkpatrick had been, like many other men, struggling on in his profession, and encumbered with a large family of his own; he was ready to do a good turn for his connections, if it occasioned him no loss of time, and if (which was, perhaps, a primary condition) he remembered their existence. Cynthia’s visit to Doughty Street, nine or ten years ago, had not made much impression upon him after he had once suggested its feasibility to his good-natured wife. He was even rather startled, every now and then, by the appearance of a pretty little girl amongst his own children, as they trooped in to dessert, and had to remind himself who she was. But, as it was his custom to leave the table almost immediately and to retreat into a small back-room called his study, to immerse himself in papers for the rest of the evening, the child had not made much impression upon him; and probably the next time he remembered her existence was, when Mrs. Kirkpatrick wrote to him to beg him to receive Cynthia for a night on her way to school at Boulogne. The same request was repeated on her return; but it so happened that he had not seen her either time; and he only dimly remembered some remarks which his wife had made on one of these occasions, that it seemed to her rather hazardous to send so young a girl on so long a journey, without making more provision for her safety than Mrs. Kirkpatrick had done. He knew that his wife would fill up all deficiencies in this respect, as if Cynthia had been her own daughter, and thought no more about her, until he received an invitation to attend Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s wedding with Mr. Gibson, the highly-esteemed surgeon of Hollingford, &c., &c.—an attention which irritated instead of pleasing him. “Does the woman think I have nothing to do but run about the country in search of brides and bridegrooms, when this great case of Houghton v. Houghton is coming on, and I haven’t a moment to spare?” he asked of his wife.

“Perhaps she never heard of it,” suggested Mrs. Kirkpatrick.

“Nonsense! the case has been in the paper for days.”

“But she mayn’t know you are engaged in it.”

“She mayn’t,” said he meditatively—such ignorance was possible.

But now the great case of Houghton v. Houghton was a thing of the past; the hard struggle was over, the comparative table-land of Q.C.-dom gained, and Mr. Kirkpatrick had leisure for family feeling and