Not that her glance by any means shows the odalisque softness, of which mention has been made; on the contrary, there is an incipient loathing in it, that she tries to conceal under the shelter of her long golden lashes. But everything nearly has two sides, and the white drooping lids find favour in her adorer’s sight, for he attributes them to the delicate shyness peculiar to the _china_ beings of the Upper Ten, and unknown to the coarse delf of his own class. Once, and once only, has he ventured to lift the lissom white fingers to his hungry lips very respectfully, _bien entendu_. It was the day when, Lady Beranger standing by, Trixy agreed to barter her youth and beauty for: “Gold, gold, gold, gold, Bright and yellow, hard and cold; Molten, graven, hammered and roll’d, Heavy to get, and light to hold, Price of many a crime untold.” But she had drawn back her fingers before they arrived at his desired goal, with a sudden hauteur that almost petrified him into a stone. It was the first time he had been thrown in such close contact with “high life,” and when it bristled up in aggrieved delicacy it appalled him; but the next moment, he awoke to a profound admiration for the maidenly reserve that was, of course, part and parcel of a refined nature. Poor Mr. Stubbs! well may the Beranger girls pity him. He little dreams of the melting glances Trixy’s sweet blue eyes have given to Carlton Conway, or how eagerly the hand like a snowdrift has gone out to nestle in Carlton Conway’s clasp, and how the faint blush rose on her cheek has deepened into damask bloom when in the old days Carlton Conway whispered in her ear, nor how, tell it not in Gath! her pretty mouth had even pouted for Carlton Conway’s caress. But we all know that where ignorance is bliss, etc., etc. Ever since Mr. Stubbs has been duly installed in the dignified position of “future,” to Lady Beranger’s eldest daughter, he makes periodical visits to Belgrave Square. As it has been told, to day is his eighth visit, but he approaches no whit nearer to his divinity as regards heart--in fact he has decidedly made a retrograde movement in her opinion. Trixy fully realises the truth of the old saw, “distance lends enchantment to the view,” and the nearer she sees him the more difficult it seems to her to swallow this big bitter pill, although it is heavily gilded. Still, she is determined to marry him somehow, for as regards more substantial things their hearts and such obsolete absurdities--she has fully realised the advantages and benefits this horrible sacrifice of herself, as she styles it, is likely to bestow. What daughter of Belgravia hesitates long between love and ambition? That is, if she has been properly brought up? and how often are the marriages solemnised at St. George’s or St. Peter’s--marriages _du cœur_? A popular author writes of modern love--