"Oh, Uncle James, think of the baked meats!" she laughed. "Of the nectar-cup!" "What are baked meats and a nectar-cup to the brightness of thine eyes, to the sweet discourse of thy lips? There's not thy peer in this world, Mary Ursula." "Uncle, uncle, you would spoil me. Flattery is like a subtle poison, that in time destroys sound health." "Fare you well, my dear. I will come and say goodnight to you before I leave." As Mr. Castlemaine trod the corridor, he met Miss Mountsorrel coming up: a handsome, haughty girl in a scarlet cloak and hood. She returned his salute with a sweeping bow, and passed on her way in silence. T tie dinner was one of those perfect little repasts that the banker was renowned for. The three other guests were Sir Richard Blake-Gordon; the Reverend John Marston, vicar of St. Mark's and also of Greylands, generally called by the public "Parson Mas'on;" and Mr. Knivett, family solicitor to the Castlemaines. The wines were excellent; the reunion was altogether sociable and pleasant; and the banker's brow gave no indication of the strife within. It's true Mr. Marston took his full share of the wine--as many a parson then appeared to think it quite religious to do--and talked rather too much accordingly. But the guests enjoyed themselves and broke up before eleven. Mr. Castlemaine, who could drink his wine with any man, but took care never to take more than he could carry as a gentleman, proceeded to his niece's room to say goodnight to her; as he had promised to do. "I hope I have not kept you up, my dear," he began as he entered. "Oh no, Uncle James," was Mary Ursula's answer. "I never go to bed until I have sung the evening hymn to papa." "Where's Miss Mountsorrel?" "The carriage came for her at ten o'clock." "And pray where's Master William, that he has not been here this evening?" She blushed like a summer rose. "Do you think he is here every evening, Uncle James? Mrs. Webb warned him in time that it would not be etiquette, especially while she was away. And how have you enjoyed yourself?" "Passably. The baked meats you spoke of were tempting; the nectar good. Of which nectar, in the shape of a dinner port, the parson took slightly more than was necessary. What toast, do you suppose, he suddenly gave us?" "How can I tell, Uncle James?" she rejoined, looking up. "We were talking of you at the moment, and the parson rose to his legs, his glass in his hand. 'Here's to the fairest and sweetest maiden in the universe,' said he, 'and may she soon be Lady Blake-Gordon!'" "Oh, how could he!" exclaimed Miss Castlemaine, colouring painfully in her distress. "And Sir Richard present!"