"That's a dear handkerchief, I know," cried Mrs. Cleveland. "What is it, Madame Damereau?" "That--oh, but that's recherché, that," said madame, in a rapture. "Nine guineas. Ah!" "Send it home with the other things," said Selina. "I am going," said Mrs. Cleveland. "I have bought all I came to buy, and it is of no use staying here to be tempted, unless one has a long purse." "The truth is, one forgets whether the purse is long or short in the midst of these enchanting things," observed Selina. "I fear it is sometimes the case," was Mrs. Cleveland's reply. "Are you coming, my dear?" "Not yet," answered Selina. Lady, Adela went out with Mrs. Cleveland. She had not given a single order; had not gone with any particular intention of giving one, unless she saw anything especially to take her fancy. But Madame Damereau's was regarded as a favourite lounging place, and the gay world of the gentler sex liked to congregate there. "Can I drive you anywhere?" asked Adela of Mrs. Cleveland, as they stood on the steps of Madame Damereau's handsome entrance-door. "Will you come home with me?" "Thank you, I wish I could," was the answer. "But when I do come to London I have so many little commissions to execute that my time has to be almost entirely given to them. I shall hope to call and see you the next time." "I wish you would come and stay with me for a week," cried Adela, quickly. "It would be a charity--an oasis of pleasure in my lonely life." "Lonely from the want of children," thought Mrs. Cleveland, with a sad, faint smile. "Are you quite well?" asked Adela, quickly, some delicacy in Mrs. Cleveland's face striking her. "I--hope I am," was the hesitating answer. "At least, I hope that nothing serious is amiss. It is true I have not felt quite right lately, have suffered much pain; and one of my errands here is to see a physician. He has made an appointment for tomorrow morning." Adela renewed her invitation, wished her good-day, and watched the rather fragile form away with a wistful look. They never saw each other again in life. Before two months had run their course, poor Mrs. Cleveland had gone where pain and suffering are not. Meanwhile, when the show-rooms had thinned a little, Madame Damereau had the "caisse" brought out: that is to say, the contents of it. The caisse was taken for granted; the articles only appeared. The chief one, the lace dress, new from Paris, and secluded till that moment from covetous eyes, was of a species of lace that madame called Point d'Angleterre. Madame shook out its folds with tender solicitude, and displayed its temptations before Mrs. Dalrymple's enthralled eyes. Madame did not speak; she let the dress do its own work: her face spoke eloquently enough. Selina was sitting on one of the low crimson velvet ottomans, her parasol tracing unconscious figures on the carpet, and her own elegant silk gown spread out around her.