The dinner has been removed, and the dessert in its rich and delicate china of green and gold has been placed on the table. The wine-glasses, finger-glasses, and decanters; the silver knives and forks, the polished damask of the tablecloth, and the prisms of the chandelier drops above it, glitter and sparkle in the light of many wax tapers. In that sombre yet noble room, with its carved oak panellings, its many and richly draped windows, chairs of mahogany and ebony, and a thick handsome carpet, beyond the bordering of which appears the oaken floor; the dinner-table, the dresses of the ladies, and the men-servants in their gay livery, form a dazzling spot of brightness by contrast. It would seem as if nothing could enhance that brightness, yet a few moments proved the contrary. The door opened, and three children entered the room--a girl of twelve, a boy of ten, and a little one of six, who escaping from the hand of her nurse, and disregarding her elder sister's remonstrance, bounded across the room to the side of grandpapa. "Well, Gipsy," said the earl, as he lifted the little girl on his knee, "who sent for you?" "Mamma did," she replied; and then added quickly, "Grandpapa, I'm not a gipsy; I saw real gipsies to-day, and they are ugly; they wear red cloaks and old frocks, and the little girl gipsies have no shoes or stockings. I don't be dressed like that." A general laugh followed this speech; most certainly the little fairy in white lace, blue morocco shoes, and silk socks was very unlike the children she described, at least in dress. But well might she claim the pet title of "Gipsy Dora." The dark flashing eye, softened by its long eyelashes; the clear brunette complexion, through which the damask rose colour showed itself on the glowing cheek, and the long dark brown curls that fell round her dimpled shoulders, made her far more deserving of the name than her mother had ever been. The sisters were dressed alike, but May, the elder, differed greatly from Dora in appearance; tall and slight, with blue eyes and fair hair, her gentle manner and delicate face showed a striking resemblance to the late Lady Rivers. The boy, who stood by his mother, his blue velvet tunic contrasting with her light silk dress, appeared a manly, spirited little fellow, yet neither so gipsy-like as one sister nor so fair as the other. So far as the change of conversation is concerned, we need only have introduced Gipsy Dora, excepting to add brightness to the picture in the earl's noble dining-room, which children on such occasions so often do. "Papa," said Lady Dora, presently, "talking about gipsies reminds me of that morning so many years ago, when I read the notice of Miss Halford's marriage in the paper at Englefield Grange, and you gave me an imaginary cause for the origin of the word Englefield." Lord Rivers smiled, but he did not reply.