skirt or hat from Paris directly it was put on the market, and wrote accounts of herself and her 'smartness' to the American press under a 'nom-de-plume.' She was not, like Lady Beaulyon, celebrated for her beauty, but for her perennial youth. Her face, without being in the least interesting or charming, was smooth and peach-coloured, without a line of thought or a wrinkle of care upon it. Her eyes were bright and quite baby-like in their meaningless expression, and her hair was of the loveliest Titian red. She had a figure which was the envy of all modellers of dress-stands,--and as she was wont to say of herself, it would have been difficult to find fault with the 'chic' of her outward appearance. Painters and sculptors would have found her an affront to nature--but then Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay had no acquaintance with painters and sculptors. She thought them 'queer' people, with very improper ideas. She was exceedingly put out by Walden's abrupt pause in his reading of the 'Dearly beloved,' while she and the other members of the Manor house-party rustled into their places,--and when he recommenced the exordium she revenged herself by staring at him quizzically through a long- handled tortoiseshell-mounted lorgnon. But she did not succeed in confusing him at all, or in even attracting his attention,--so she merely shrugged her shoulders, with what the French call an 'air moqueuse.' The momentary confusion caused by the pause in the service soon passed, and the spirit of calm again settled on the scene after the 'General Confession.' But Maryllia was deeply conscious of hurt and vexation. It was too bad of Mr. Walden, she kept on. saying to herself over and over again,--too bad! Her friends and herself were only five or six minutes late, and to have stopped in his reading of the service like that to put them all to shame was unkind--'yes, unkind,' she said in her vexed soul,--vexed all the more because she was inwardly conscious that Walden was right and herself wrong. She knew well enough that she could have reached the church at eleven had she chosen, and have brought her friends punctual to time as well. She knew it was neither reverent nor respectful to interrupt divine worship. But she was too irritated to reason the matter out calmly just then,--all she could think of was that she and her London guests had received a reproof from the minister of the parish--silent, but none the less severe--before all the villagers- before her own servants--and on the first occasion of her coming to church, too! She could not get over it. "If he can see me," she thought, "he will know that I am angry!"