that she was but a vain coquette. She laughed, shook her curls from her eyes, and danced away as if I had paid her a compliment.

Miss Ginevra’s school-studies were little better than nominal. There were but three things she practised in earnest—namely, music, singing, and dancing; also embroidering the fine cambric handkerchiefs which she could not afford to buy ready worked. Such mere trifles as lessons in history, geography, grammar, and arithmetic, she left undone or got others to do for her. Very much of her time was spent in visiting. Madame, aware that her stay at school was now limited to a certain period which would not be extended whether she made progress or not, allowed her great license in this particular. Mrs. Cholmondeley—her chaperon—a gay, fashionable lady, invited her whenever she had company at her own house, and sometimes took her to evening parties at the houses of her acquaintance. Ginevra perfectly approved this mode of procedure. It had but one inconvenience: she was obliged to be well dressed, and she had not money to buy variety of dresses. All her thoughts turned on this difficulty; her whole soul was occupied with expedients for effecting its solution. It was wonderful to witness the activity of her otherwise indolent mind on this point, and to see the much-daring intrepidity to which she was spurred by a sense of necessity, and the wish to shine.

She begged boldly of Mrs. Cholmondeley—boldly, I say. Not with an air of reluctant shame, but in this strain,—

“My darling Mrs. C., I have nothing in the world fit to wear for your party next week. You must give me a book-muslin dress, and then a ceinture bleu céleste. Do—there’s an angel! Will you?”

The “darling Mrs. C.” yielded at first; but finding that applications increased as they were complied with, she was soon obliged, like all Miss Fanshawe’s friends, to oppose resistance to encroachment. After a while I heard no more of Mrs. Cholmondeley’s presents; but still visiting went on, and the absolutely necessary dresses continued to be supplied; also many little expensive etcetera—gloves, bouquets, even trinkets. These things, contrary to her custom, and even nature—for she was not secretive—were most sedulously kept out of sight for a time; but one evening, when she was going to a large party for which particular care and elegance of costume were demanded, she could not resist coming to my chamber to show herself in all her splendour.

Beautiful she looked—so young, so fresh, and with a delicacy of skin and flexibility of shape altogether English, and not found in the list of Continental female charms. Her dress was new, costly, and perfect. I saw at a glance that it lacked none of those finishing details which cost so much, and give to the general effect such an air of tasteful completeness.

I viewed her from top to toe. She turned airily round, that I might survey her on all sides. Conscious of her charms, she was in her best humour; her rather small blue eyes sparkled gleefully. She was going to bestow on me a kiss, in her school-girl fashion of showing her delight; but I said, “Steady! Let us be steady, and know what we are about, and find out the meaning of our magnificence,” and so put her off at arm’s length, to undergo cooler inspection.

“Shall I do?” was her question.

“Do?” said I. “There are different ways of doing; and, by my word, I don’t understand yours.”

“But how do I look?”

“You look well dressed.”

She thought the praise not warm enough, and proceeded to direct attention to the various decorative points of her attire. “Look at this parure,” said she. “The brooch, the earrings, the bracelets—no one in the school has such a set, not madame herself.”