she persuaded her father one fine Saturday afternoon to take her for an airing in the Mall. Sebastian hesitated a little, and professed himself too busy, but at last consented, and Carrie—exquisitely bewitching in her furry hood—walked at a slow pace down the Mall by his side, the admired of all admirers. Now there exists between some people a mysterious sympathy—telepathy, we call it in the nineteenth century, in the eighteenth it was not named—which premonishes them of meeting, just as the quicksilver in an aneroid will foretell the weather of the coming day. When Carrie dressed herself in all her bravery, and prayed her father for his escort, she was convinced deep down in her heart that she would meet Phil that day. She had no reason whatever to suppose that he was in town; she had walked out every day since they parted and never met him, but to-day she felt certain she would do so. It came to her therefore as no surprise to hear her father say— ‘Carrie, there comes Philip Meadowes.’ She did not need to be admonished of the fact. ‘May I speak with him, sir?’ ‘No.’ They had passed almost before the question and answer were spoken. Carrie did not even bow to him in the passing, but she smiled a brilliant flashing smile and blushed like a rose. ‘Phil looks older, does he not, sir?’ she asked, as they walked along—only her quick-drawn breath and the excited little pinch she gave to her father’s arm betrayed her excitement. Sebastian did not reply. It was the next Sunday that Carrie made a delightful discovery: Phil had begun to come to church at St. Mary Minories! Carrie was just stifling a yawn behind her hand, when, across the little church, she caught sight of Phil. He sat just opposite her—why, why was the service so very short? Carrie, who was as regular a slumberer as she was an attendant upon Church services, now sat forward in the great square pew, wide awake, and any observant person must have noted how her eyes wandered across the church, and met those of the young man who occupied the opposite pew. Then she would flicker her eyelids and look down and blush an enchanting blush under the shade of the great feathered hat she wore, and then the same thing would be gone through over again. Phil, on his part, leant forward, staring unabashedly at Carrie. He was delighted to observe that her sole guardian during church hours was Lady Mallow, and Lady Mallow, like her niece, slept whenever it was possible to do so. After they had mutually made these pleasant discoveries I suppose it would have been difficult to find two happier young people than they were that morning. Every circumstance seemed to be fortunate for them, for Phil saw to his delight that Lady Mallow, whose pew was near the door, seemed to be in the habit of letting all the congregation disperse before she left it. This quite suited Phil. He walked slowly down the aisle and passed so near Carrie that his sleeve brushed hers for a