blunder!" resumes he, taking the sheet from before her, and indignantly holding it up for reprobation.

She heaves a heavy, furious sigh, and a sombre light comes into her great, gloomy eyes. From the garden is heard a peal of laughter. Sarah is always laughing. It is well to be merry sometimes, but Sarah is too much of a buffoon.

"In errors so palpable, it is difficult not to see intention," continues he, exasperated by a silence that is so plainly not repentance-a silence which she still observes.

Another burst of laughter from the garden-not Sarah's this time; a man's wholesome, unfeigned mirth. He, too, can laugh, can he?

"I should really be disposed to recommend a return to the writing-master," says Mr. Forth, still ironically regarding the blurred page.

For all answer, she rises to her feet, and throws her pen with violence down upon the floor.

"Your machine has broken down for to

day," she says, with a pale, rebellious smile.

Legible or illegible, writing-master or no writing-master, I will write not one word more to-day!"

T is Miss Churchill's maxim always to make herself as comfortable, under any given circumstances, as those circumstances will permit; nor has she failed on the present occasion to live up to her own precept. Beneath the garden wall, where the shade spreads coolest, a fur rug, filched from the drawing-room floor, is extended; cushions, unlawfully thieved from the drawing-room sofa, mollify the hardness of back of the garden-chairs. Upon the unlikely hypothesis of her conversation running short, she has unearthed all the novels she can find. At her feet the dogs alternately sleep, and gnash their teeth-rarely successful-at the flies. In

the sun, close by, stands the parrot's gilded cage; so that, if other resources fail her, she may fall back upon his loquacity. In addition to the dogs, at her feet also lies Rivers, unworthily occupied in tickling the inside of the dozing Slutty's ear with a flower-stalk. This is the tranquil Arcadian picture that salutes Mrs. Forth's eyes as she issues from the house. He has his back turned towards her! He has not cared enough for her coming, even to place himself so as to watch for it! How is she to know that it was only a moment ago, in obedience to Sarah's orders, and in dread of the remembered penetration of her eyes, that he had adopted his present position? How cool they look! How much at ease! What a pity to disturb them! After all she might as well have finished the proofs. As she draws near them, walking so softly over the turf that they are not immediately aware of her, a new burst of laughter fills. and grates upon her ears.

"You seem very merry," she says drily. Sarah exhibits no surprise-as why in

deed should she?-at her sister's advent. With her head thrown back comfortably over her chair, she finishes her laugh luxuriously out, but of Rivers' mirth Belinda need no longer complain. There is not

much that could be called mirth in the face that suddenly leaping to his feet-he turns towards her. What a death's-head she must be to work such an instantaneous transformation in him!

"You seem to be very merry,” she repeats.

She is conscious of the resentful dryness of her tone; of the fagged flush upon her cheeks and the sullenness that she has not ; quite been able to banish from her eyes; but she is as powerless to correct the one as the others. What has he done to deserve that tone? Beneath it he stands tongue-tied.

"May not I know what your joke was?" she says, struggling not very successfully for a greater amenity of manner; “why should not it amuse me, too?"

"It-it was nothing much!" he answers deprecatingly; "I do not know why I

VOL. II.

35