has at last chosen to break it off—and has used the Gibson girl—I forget her name—as a cat’spaw, and made both her and herself the town’s talk—the butt for all the gossip of Hollingford? I remember, when I was young, there was a girl called Jilting Jessie. You’ll have to watch over your young lady, or she will get some such name. I speak to you like a friend, Clare, when I tell you it’s my opinion that girl of yours will get herself into some more mischief yet, before she’s safely married. Not that I care one straw for Mr. Preston’s feelings. I don’t even know if he’s got feelings or not; but I know what is becoming in a young woman, and jilting is not. And now you may both go away and send Dawson to me, for I’m tired, and want to have a little sleep.”

“Indeed, Lady Cumnor—will you believe me?—I do not think Cynthia was ever engaged to Mr. Preston. There was an old flirtation. I was afraid”——

“Ring the bell for Dawson,” said Lady Cumnor wearily: her eyes closed. Lady Harriet had too much experience of her mother’s moods not to lead Mrs. Gibson away almost by main force, she protesting all the while that she did not think there was any truth in the statement, though it was dear Lady Cumnor that said it.

Once in her own room, Lady Harriet said, “Now, Clare, I’ll tell you all about it; and I think you’ll have to believe it, for it was Mr. Preston himself who told me. I heard of a great commotion in Hollingford about Mr. Preston; and I met him riding out, and asked him what it was all about; he didn’t want to speak about it, evidently. No man does, I suppose, when he’s been jilted; and he made both papa and me promise not to tell; but papa did—and that’s what mamma has for a foundation; you see, a really good one.”

“But Cynthia is engaged to another man—she really is. And another—a very good match indeed—has just been offering to her in London. Mr. Preston is always at the root of mischief.”

“Nay! I do think in this case it must be that pretty Miss Cynthia of yours who has drawn on one man to be engaged to her—not to say two—and another to make her an offer. I can’t endure Mr. Preston; but I think it’s rather hard to accuse him of having called up the rivals, who are, I suppose, the occasion of his being jilted.”

“I don’t know; I always feel as if he owed me a grudge, and men have so many ways of being spiteful. You must acknowledge that, if he had not met you, I should not have had dear Lady Cumnor so angry with me.”

“She only wanted to warn you about Cynthia. Mamma has always been very particular about her own daughters. She has been very severe on the least approach to flirting, and Mary will be like her!”

“But Cynthia will flirt, and I can’t help it. She is not noisy, or giggling; she is always a lady—that everybody must own. But she has a way of attracting men she must have inherited from me, I think.” And here she smiled faintly, and would not have rejected a confirmatory compliment; but none came. “However, I will speak to her; I will get to the bottom of the whole affair. Pray tell Lady Cumnor that it has so fluttered me the way she spoke, about my dress and all. And it only cost five guineas after all, reduced from eight!”

“Well, never mind now. You are looking very much flushed; quite feverish! I left you too long in mamma’s hot room. But, do you know, she is so much pleased to have you here!” And so Lady Cumnor really was, in spite of the continual lectures which she gave “Clare,” and which poor Mrs. Gibson turned under as helplessly as the typical worm. Still it was something to have a countess to scold her; and that pleasure would endure, when the worry was past. And then Lady Harriet petted her more than usual, to make up for what she had to go through in the convalescent’s room; and Lady Cuxhaven talked sense to her, with dashes of science and deep thought intermixed, which was very flattering, although generally unintelligible; and Lord Cumnor, good-natured, good-tempered, kind, and liberal, was full of gratitude to her for her kindness in coming to see Lady Cumnor, and his gratitude took the tangible shape of a haunch of venison, to say nothing of lesser game. When she looked back upon her visit, as she drove home in the solitary grandeur of the Towers carriage, there had been but one great enduring rub—Lady Cumnor’s crossness—and she chose to consider Cynthia as the cause of that, instead of seeing the truth, which had been so