"Oh, Claudine," whispered Faustine, "look at Julia," and her sister uttered a tragic. "Ah!" as she advanced with her brother to receive the new arrivals. Certainly Julia looked deadly pale, for as she descended from the carriage she had caught sight of a great burly fellow bearing a lantern, which he ostentatiously held low, so that her little pale blue satin rosetted shoes should not go astray from the carpeted path, and the sight of his dark eyes had sent the blood rushing to her heart. But this pallor rather added to than took from her beauty, as, simply dressed in the palest of pale blue satin, and her throat and arms wreathed with lustrous pearls, she seemed to stand alone amidst the throng of strangely grotesque costumes by which she was surrounded. The sisters changed their key instanter upon seeing the effect produced upon their brother, whose eyes half closed once more as he greeted his guests. In fact, he treated the Rector with such deference, that for a moment it seemed as if he were going to sink upon his knees, and in true patriarchal style ask for his blessing. But he did not, neither did he raise Julia's hand to his lips. He merely beamed upon her rapturously, led her to a seat after the congratulations of his sisters had had due course, and then, as a kind of hum went through the rooms, proceeded to hover over his choice. "A melody in heaven's own azure," whispered Perry-Morton. "Julia, your costume is perfection." The pallor on poor Julia's cheeks had been giving place to a vivid blush, but her host's words and manner once more drove the blood to her heart, and she sank back upon the lounge, glad to use her fan, for she thoroughly realised that she was looked upon by all present as the future mistress of the place. "Magnus, my dear boy," whispered Artingale, "have you any charity in your nature?" "Heaps. Why?" "Because I want you to go and cut that fellow out. Julia really is a nice girl." "Don't be a fool," was the answer, given with such intensity that Artingale was startled. "Fool, be hanged! I'm in earnest. Wait a bit, and we'll go up to her together, and then I'll be off and leave you. You'd stand no end of a chance, for Cynthia likes you ever so." "Don't be an ass, Harry," said Magnus, "you seem to be happy enough. Let the poor little body be." "Well, I don't want to quarrel," said Artingale, "but if ever a fellow was a fool or an ass I should think it would be when he turned up his nose at the chance of winning a little woman who has not been spoiled by the world." "Oh, she's nice enough," said Magnus, gruffly. "Are those two brothers going to marry those stained-glass virgins?" he continued, as Cyril joined Frank, who was bending impressively towards Faustine. "I wish to heaven they would," said Artingale, earnestly. "Hang the brothers! What a thing it is that pretty girls are obliged to have brothers! At last!--I'm off. There's the telegram."