"Pooh! she would have sneered at your sympathy," rejoined Gascoigne. "She never pitied herself." "No, she despised herself. How I wish Dobbin had not been endowed with such large feet, otherwise I believe he would be almost my favourite hero." "Only his feet stand in the way—alas! poor Dobbin." "Yes—ah, here you have something modern," opening another book: "La seul rêve interesse Vive sans rêve qui est ce. Et J'aime La Princesse Lointaine!" she quoted; "what a swing it has! Why, it is only seven o'clock," she announced, with one of her sudden changes of manner. "What can we do to amuse ourselves?" And he realised, as she looked eagerly at him, that here was a young thing full of spirit and playfulness. Angel, as she turned and surveyed her guardian where he still sat at table, the rose-shaded lamp throwing a becoming light on his clear-cut, dark face, and deep-set eyes, acknowledged with a sudden stab that here was a man as young, attractive, and marriageable, as many of her late admirers. The title of uncle or guardian was a ridiculous misfit. For his part, he was wondering what he was to do with this graceful, radiant creature, full of life, will, vitality, and imagination. Perhaps it was just as well that she had broken away from Lady Augusta and her pernicious influence; but where was she to live? What was he to do with her? If he had been twenty years older. Her question roused him, and he answered: "I have no accomplishments whatever, and I throw myself upon your generosity." "Well, I am very frivolous," she acknowledged, airily; "it is in my blood, and I know some parlour tricks." As she concluded she swept into the next room, and presently returned carrying a gaily-beribboned mandoline, and two packs of cards. "These were so useful on board ship," she explained, as she sat down; "made me quite run after. Ever so many people invited me to stay, but I told them I was coming out to my guardian." She paused, and then coloured vividly as she recalled the extraordinary contrast between the ideal grey-haired picture she carried in her mind's eye, and this young and vigorous reality. As she talked, she dealt out the cards. What pretty hands!—Gascoigne assured himself that he was in love—with her hands. "You play cards, of course?" she enquired, looking up at him with her direct gaze. "Yes; whist only—strict whist, mind you; no Bumble puppy." "Oh, that is because you belong to a scientific corps," with a shrug of extreme commiseration. "Nevertheless, your education is far from complete. I'll teach you euchre, poker, picquet, and ever so many good games of patience. Here is one for two," and she began to deal and explain. The lesson proved so interesting that the couple were completely absorbed, and deaf to the rising of the storm, the crashing and clashing of trees around them, the roar of the downpour on the roof, and the thunder of the mountain torrents.