with self-satisfaction, and possessed only at a certain period in their lives by young ladies of her age. It was almost the air of the cat in whose interior reposes the missing canary, except that in this instance the canary obviously existed in the person of the young man who sat at her side, introduced formally to the household for the first time. That young man’s name was--at the moment--Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald. It seems idle to attempt any description of a person who, in the past, had secured a certain amount of fame under a varying personality; and who, in the future, was to become more than ever notorious under a far less aristocratic pseudonym than that by which he was at present known to the inhabitants of Daisy Villa. There are photographs of him in New York and Paris, St. Petersburg and Chicago, Vienna and Cape Town, but there are no two pictures which present to the casual observer the slightest likeness to one another. To allude to him by the name under which he had won some part, at least, of the affections of Miss Maud Barnes, Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald, as he sat there, a suitor on probation for her hand, was a young man of modest and genteel appearance. He wore a blue serge suit--a little underdressed for the occasion, perhaps; but his tie and collar were neat; his gold-rimmed spectacles--if a little disapproved of by Maud on account of the air of steadiness which they imparted--suggested excellent son-in-lawlike qualities to Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. He had the promise of a fair moustache, but his complexion generally was colourless. His features, except for a certain regularity, were undistinguished. His speech was modest and correct. His manner varied with his company. To-night it had been pronounced, by excellent judges--genteel. The conversation consisted--naturally enough, under the circumstances--of a course of subtle and judicious pumping, tactfully prompted, for the most part, by Mrs. Barnes. Such, for instance, as the following: “Talking about Marie Corelli’s new book reminds me, Mr. Fitzgerald--your occupation is connected with books, is it not?” his prospective mother-in-law enquired, artlessly. Mr. Fitzgerald bowed assent. “I am cashier at Howell & Wilson’s in Cheapside,” he said. “We sell a great many books there--as many, I should think, as any retail establishment in London.” “Indeed!” Mrs. Barnes purred. “Very interesting work, I am sure. So nice and intellectual, too; for, of course, you must be looking inside them sometimes.” “I know the place well,” Mr. Adolphus Barnes, Junior, announced condescendingly,--“pass it every day on my way to lunch.” “So much nicer,” Mrs. Barnes continued, “than any of the ordinary businesses--grocery or drapery, or anything of that sort.” Miss Maud elevated her eyebrows slightly. Was it likely that she would have looked with eyes of favour upon a young man engaged in any of these inferior occupations?