man, with savings in the Bank of Bengal, and a small property in New Zealand. The middle-aged Major was unmistakably in love with the pretty blue-eyed widow, but, to impart a secret, he had never exhibited the smallest enthusiasm for her offspring, and now that he had four sturdy olive branches of his own, indifference had developed into unconcealed aversion. Perhaps (for he was a model parent) he may have been a little jealous of his step-daughter's airy grace and high-bred features. Angel was an aristocrat to the tips of her shocking sand-shoes, whilst his own beloved progeny were undeniably _bourgeois_—stumpy, stolid, heavy children, whose faces recalled the colour and contour of a cream cheese. Although Colonel Wilkinson scaled sixteen stone, he was an active, bustling man—indeed some people considered him "fussy"—an excellent organiser and administrator in his official capacity, whilst at home in the domestic circle he saw to everything himself, thus relieving his Lena of all housekeeping cares. He checked the bazaar accounts, gave out the stores, oil and fodder, ordered the meals and hectored the servants—he even instructed the ayah, and harried the milkman—the only person over whom he had no control was the dirzee. Consequently Lena had nothing to do but compose costumes, amuse herself, and look pretty. In her heart of hearts, Angel, her firstborn, was her mother's favourite child, but no whisper of this weakness ever escaped her lips. She was too painfully aware, that Richard was excessively jealous of the claims of his family, whom he idolised. Of course Angel ought to have been sent home, no one was more alive to this duty than her parent, but unhappily Mrs. Wilkinson had no private income; she was compelled to ask for every rupee she expended, and it was with difficulty she obtained a slender sum for the children's clothes. As for her own toilettes, her husband liked to see her in pretty gowns, he was proud of them, and of her, but when it came to paying—oh! that was another affair altogether. Every bill she presented to him entailed a battle—or at least an argument, and what of those bills, those frightful bills, she dared not let him see? If Colonel Wilkinson growled savagely when called upon to disburse for Angel's meagre wardrobe, how could her mother hope for a substantial cheque to defray her outfit, passage, and education? Much as Colonel Wilkinson disliked the child, he had not the heart to open his purse strings and provide for her removal to another home and hemisphere.