them!--that they have their claims on regard, esteem, and something stronger too; and doubtless the delusion has its influence in fighting off, for a year or two, the inevitable admission that they have dropped out of the “van” into that veteran battalion which furnishes no more guards of honour at the Temple of Venus, nor even a sentinel at the gate. Very ungallant little sums in arithmetic, too, used he to work about Georgina’s age; and it would seem strange to younger men the anxiety he felt to give her a year or two more than she had a right to. “I’m not sure she’s not nearer thirty-five than thirty-two,” muttered he, ill naturedly, to himself. “Rickards said, one night, she was older than her sister, though the old rascal took care to come and tell me in the morning that it was a mistake.” And then, by subtracting this thirty-five from another arbitrary sum, he obtained a result apparently satisfactory, being, as he termed it, the proper difference of age between man and wife! Why will not men, in their zeal for truth, take “evidence for the defence” occasionally, and ask a woman’s opinion on. this subject? They arrived at last at the Villa Balbi, a grand old palace on the sea-side, where ruin and splendour were blended up together, and statues, and fountains, and frescoes struggled for the mastery over a rank growth of vegetation, that seemed to threaten enclosing the whole place in a leafy embrace. Into the deep arches that supported the terrace, the blue Mediterranean flowed with that noiseless motion of this all but tideless sea. All was silent as they drove up to the gate, for they had not been expected before the morrow-. Scarcely was the door opened than Ada sprung out and disappeared up the stairs, followed as well as she might by the governess. Mr. M’Kinlay was then left alone, or, at least, with no other companionship than some three or four servants, whose attempts at English were by no means successful. “Ah, Miller, I’m glad to see _your_ face at last,” said the lawyer, as Sir Gervais’s valet pushed his way through the crowd; “how are all here?” “Sir Gervais has had a bad night, Sir, and we were expecting the doctor every moment. Indeed, when I heard your carriage, I thought it was he had come.” “Not seriously ill, I hope?” “Not that, perhaps, Sir; but the doctor calls it a very slow fever, and requiring great care and perfect quiet. He is not to know when Miss Ada arrives.” “And the ladies, are they well?” “My Lady’s greatly tired and fatigued, Sir, of course; but Miss Courtenay is well. She was just giving directions about your room, Sir. She said, ‘If Mr. M’Kinlay should be afraid of this fever, you can take him down to the fattore’s house, and make him up a room there.’” “Is it a fever then, Miller, a real fever?” “They call it so, Sir.”