mildly, to utter some of her woe to the father, who had said, ‘Pooh! Let the lass alone. She’ll never need to know such things. She shall marry a lord! Only don’t let her cross me and she’ll do.’ And Helena had been suffered to trample upon the domestic arts, and to throw herself, with all the energy of one who has nothing to do with herself, into all sorts of questions about which her active brain made her curious, while her unfinished education left her profoundly ignorant of their practical bearings. She had no female friends except Mrs. Mallory and Miss Mereweather, a conspicuous friend and upholder of ‘the cause.’ She loved Mrs. Mallory, because that lady was kind to her, and was by no means a nonentity; and she adored Miss Mereweather because of her talents, or what seemed to Helena her talents. Friends at home the girl had none. Fred had one of those hopelessly dense natures which may be called the complacently brutal--nothing in the way of friendship or sympathy was to be had from him. Her father--Helena, in her intercourse at school with girls of good family and social surroundings, had learnt to know that her father’s manners and language were to be abhorred, while, had he been a Sir Charles Grandison in the matter of deportment, his coarse bullying and ferocious bantering of her mother would alone have made the hot-spirited girl almost hate him. And Fred--his mother stood in profound awe of him; his talk, his slang, his ways in general; and she was the one soul on earth, except himself, who was firmly convinced of the fact that Frederick Spenceley was at once a finished gentleman and a consummate man of the world. As Sebastian sat watching his hostess, and partly divining some of these facts, a voice at his elbow roused him. ‘Good evening, Mr. Mallory. You look as if you were dreaming.’ Looking quickly round, he saw Helena standing close beside him, smiling as frankly as if no misunderstanding had ever existed between them, as if they had not quarrelled violently within two hours of first seeing each other. How lovely she was! None but a very lovely woman could have stood the dull ivory satin dress she wore, fitting tight in the waist, without a fold or a crease; and, in an age of voluminous, portentous crinolines, trailing straight and long behind her. She wore a black lace fichu, and elbow sleeves with black lace ruffles falling from them. The fichu was fastened with a golden brooch; beyond that was not a ribbon, not a frill, not a jewel or a flower about her. And her beauty came triumphant through the ordeal. They had parted on decidedly evil terms, and he was surprised now to find that she welcomed him cordially, and smiled as she took the chair beside him.