to themselves for a serene and happy moment; to feel themselves dearer and nearer than they ever were before. There is something infinitely touching and tender in this honeymooning of the old. James Beresford and his wife, however, were not of these. They were still young, and of all the pleasures they had there was none equal to this close and unbroken companionship. They knew each other so well, and all their mutual tastes, that they scarcely required to put their intercourse into words; and yet how they would talk--about everything, about nothing, as if they had just met after a long absence, and had thoughts to exchange on every subject. This is a paradox; but we are not bound to explain paradoxes which are of the very essence of life, and the most attractive things in it. It had been the habit of these two to go everywhere together. Mrs. Beresford had not the prejudices of an English female Philistine. She went where her husband wanted to go, fearing nothing, and trotted about with him high and low, through picture galleries and old churches, to studios, even behind the scenes of the operas, and through the smoke clouds of big ateliers. Nothing came amiss to her with him by her side. It is almost the only way in which a woman can enjoy the freedom of movement, the easy locomotion of a man. Mrs. Beresford went away quite cheerfully, as we have said. She forgot or put away her mysterious terrors. She addressed herself to all the ordinary enjoyments which she knew so well. ‘We shall never be so free again,’ she said, half laughing, half with a remote infinitesimal pang. ‘We shall have to go to the correct places and do the right things when Cara is with us.’ ‘We must give up bric-a-brac,’ she said afterwards. ‘Cara must not grow up acquainted with all those dusty back premises; her pretty frocks would be spoiled and her infantine sincerity. If she had heard you bargaining, James, for that Buen Retiro cup! Saying it is naught, it is naught, and then bragging of the treasure you had found as soon as it was out of the dealer’s hands.’ ‘Well,’ he said, with a shrug of his shoulders; ‘I only do as other people do. Principles of honour don’t consist with collecting. I am no worse than my neighbours.’ ‘But that will never do for Cara,’ said the mother; ‘if you and I are not all her fancy painted us, we will not do for Cara. No; I thought you had never remarked her really. She is the most uncompromising little idealist! and if we disappoint her, James, I don’t know what the child will do.’ ‘It appears to me that you are making a bugbear of Cara.’ ‘No; but I know her. We must give up the bric-a-brac; for if you continue with it under her blue eyes you will be ruined. If she was here she would make you go back and tell the man he has sold you that cup too cheap.’