for let the jaded traveller be never so weary and heartsick, there is some faint sense of pleasure involved in the mere fact of being in an utterly strange place. In this cosy morning-room at Pevenshall all was brightness and colour. Every body was prettily dressed and smiling, animated and happy--as it seemed; and amongst them all there was no one gayer or brighter than Florence--that mercenary Florence for whom Cecil had felt such profound compassion. "And she really is happy," thought the barrister's wife, as Mrs. Lobyer stood in the centre of the little throng beaming upon her guests. Florence insisted upon accompanying her friend to the rooms that had been prepared for her. They were very luxurious apartments, pervaded by that atmosphere of wealth which reigned in almost every chamber of Pevenshall Place. The marble mantelpieces were enriched with garlands of flowers; the grates were marvels of glittering elegance, the china was luminous gold and colour, the chintz draperies were as delicate and lustrous as satin, the boudoir was a nest for a lotus-eating visitor; the low Arabian bed looked like a throne, the pure white rugs were soft and stainless as new-fallen snow; and, seen through the bed-chamber, the lighted dressing-room looked as fresh and bright as a chromo-lithograph. Fires burned cheerily in the three apartments. Wax candles in blue Sèvres candlesticks lighted tables and mantelpieces; and that traveller must have been indeed dead to the influence of externals who had failed to rejoice in such a luxurious shelter. "What charming rooms!" cried Cecil. "I am so glad you like them," Flo answered, cordially. "These rooms are close to my own, and I thought of you, dear, when I had them furnished; for though you have always lectured me, I think I like you better than any one else in the world, except papa." This was not a very promising speech from a wife of six months. Cecil was sincerely anxious about her friend's happiness, and was on the watch for faint indications tending to reveal the real state of things. Mrs. Lobyer had as yet made no allusion to her husband, and Cecil found it incumbent on herself to inquire after the wellbeing of the master of Pevenshall. "I hope Mr. Lobyer is well," she said.