“Thanks, yes; pass the marmalade, Bertie.” That was all; but as he got into the dogcart on the morrow, Bertie held his hand and pressed it. “Good luck, dear old boy,” he whispered; and Lord Clydesfold returned the pressure without a word. He had received news of her almost daily, sometimes from the squire, sometimes from Bessie, and not seldom from the Paris society papers. For, though they had striven to live in as much seclusion as is possible in the gay city, friends had hunted them up and had insisted upon Olivia going out a little. She withstood all entreaties for some time, but yielded at last; and the Parisians, who are always ready to acknowledge and welcome beauty and grace--even English, which are supposed to be non-existent!--made what Aunt Amelia called “a fuss” over her. Before ten months had passed Olivia had received as many offers. One from a well-known nobleman, of so high a rank that he must be nameless in these pages, threw good Aunt Amelia into a flutter of excitement, which was turned into the agony of despair by Olivia’s refusal. “My dear,” she exclaimed, with tearful indignation, “do you want to marry an emperor? Is that what you are waiting for?” “I don’t want to marry any one,” returned Olivia; “and I am not waiting for any one.” “Well, I’m glad of it!” exclaimed Aunt Amelia, driven snappish by her disappointment. “Because if you are waiting for--for----” “Well?” demanded Olivia, her eyes beginning to flash and her little foot to beat the carpet; by which sign the intelligent reader will understand how perfectly restored she was. “Well, my dear, don’t look as if you meant to eat me. All I meant to say was that he doesn’t seem as if he were coming, or as if--if he meant to come.” “I--I don’t know what you mean!” exclaimed Olivia. Then she burst into tears, which seemed to indicate that after all she had some inkling whom Aunt Amelia intended by “he.” She dried her tears very quickly, and went to dress for a ball; quite “a quiet affair,” with only about two hundred guests. She had never looked more lovely than she looked that night, and had never shone more brilliantly. The romantic story, the more than rumored proposal of the prince, attracted all attention to her; and everybody of note--and there were some famous personages there--begged for an introduction to the beautiful, young English girl. Suddenly she grew tired, and sent her rejected suitor--who could not tear himself away from her, notwithstanding his rejection--for her father. “Take me home, papa,” she said in a low voice. “Yes, yes; certainly, my dear,” he said; and he took her upon his arm down the great staircase. All the way home in the carriage she lay back silent and with her eyes closed. “Are you tired, dear?” he asked. “You are not ill?” and he looked anxious. “Not ill, dear, only tired,” she said, smiling at him lovingly. “I--I think I should like to leave Paris for a time.”