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^ By GEORGETTE HEYER
RECOGNISING her ladyships
only surviving brother at a
glance, the butler favored Sir
Horace with a low bow, and
took it upon himself to say that my
lady, although not at home to less
nearly connected persons, would be
happy to see him.
Sir Horace, unimpressed by this
condescension, handed his caped
greatcoat to one footman, his hat
and cane to the other, tossed his
gloves on the marble-topped table,
and said that he had no doubt of
that and how was Dassett keeping
these days?
The butler, torn between gratifi-
cation at having his name remem-
bered and disapproval of Sir Hor-
ace's free and easy ways, said that
he was as well as could be expected,
and happy (if he might venture to
say so) to see Sir Horace looking
not a day older than when he had
last h d the pleasure of announcing
him to her ladyship. He then led
the way up the imposing stairway
to the Blue Saloon, where Lady
Ombersley was dozing gently on a
sofa by the fire, a Paisley shawl
spread over her feet and her cap
decidedly askew.
Mr. Dassett, observing these de-
tails, coughed and made his an-
nouncement in commanding ac-
cents: "Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy,
my lady!"
Lady Ombersley awoke with a
start, made an ineffective clutch at
her cap, and uttered a faint shriek.
"Horace!"
"Hallo, Lizzie, how are you?" said
Sir Horace, walking across the
room and bestowing an invigorating
buffet upon her shoulder.
"Good heavens, what a fright you
gave me!" exclaimed her ladyship,
uncorking the vinaigrette, which was
never out of her reach.
The butler closed the door upon
the reunited brother and sister, and
went away to disclose to his under
lings that Sir Horace was a gentle-
man as lived much abroad, being,
as he was informed, employed by
the Government on Diplomatic
Business too delicate for their un-
derstanding.
The diplomatist, meanwhile, re-
freshed himself with a pinch of snuff
and told her ladyship that she was
putting on weight. "Not growing
any younger, either of us," he added
handsomely. "Not but what I can
give you five years, Lizzie, unless
my memory's at fault, which I don't
think it is."
There was a large gilded mirror
on the wall opposite to the fire-
place, and as he spoke Sir Horace
allowed his gaze to rest upon his
own image with critical approval.
His forty-five years had treated him
kindly. If his outline had thickened
a little, his height, which was well
above six feet, made a slight portli-
ness negligible. He was a very fine
figure of a man, handsome, and al-
ways dressed with elegance.
His sister accepted the implied
criticism unresentfully. Twenty
seven years of wedlock had left their
mark upon her; and the dutiful
presentation to her erratic and far
from grateful spouse of eight pledges
of her affection had long since de-
stroyed any pretensions to beauty
in her.
Her health was indifferent, her
disposition compliant, and she was
fond of saying that when one was
a grandmother it was time to be
done with thinking of one's appear-
ance.
"How's Ombersley?" asked Sir
Horace, with more civility than in-
terest.
"He feels his gout a little, but,
considering everything, he is re-
markably well," she responded.
"Always did drink too much. Still,
he must be going on for sixty now."
"Yes," said his sister, and gave
the conversation an abrupt turn b\
asking where he had come from.
"Lisbon," he replied, taking an-
other pinch of snuff.
Lady Ombersley was vaguely sur-
prised. It was now two years since
the close of the long Peninsular
War, and she rather thought that,
when last heard of, Sir Horace had
been in Vienna, no doubt taking mys-
terious part in the Congress, which
had been so rudely interrupted by
the escape of that dreadful Monster
from Elba.
"Oh!" she said, a little blankly.
"Of course, you have a house there!
I was forgetting! And how is dear
Sophia?"
"As a matter of fact," said Sir
Horace, "it's about Sophy that I've
come to see you."
Sir Horace had been a widower
for fifteen years, during which period
he had neither requested his sister's
help in rearing his daughter nor
paid the least heed to her unsolicited
advice, but at these words an uneasy
feeling stole over her.
She said: "Yes, Horace? Dear
little Sophia! It must be four years
or more since I saw her. How old
is she now? I suppose she must be
almost out?"
"Been out for years," responded
Sir Horace. "Never been anything
else, really. She's twenty."
"Twenty!" exclaimed Lady Om-
bersley. "Yes, she must be, for my
own Cecelia is just turned nineteen,
and I remember that your Sophia
was born almost a year before. Dear
me, yes! Poor Marianne! What a
lovely creature she was, to be sure!"
With a slight effort Sir Horace
conjured up the vision of his dead
wife. "Yes, so she was," he agreed.
"One forgets, you know. Sophy's
not much like her; favors me!"
"I know what a comfort she must
have been to you," sighed Lady Om-
bersley. "And I'm sure, dear Hor-
ace, that nothing could be more
affecting than your devotion to the
child!"
"I wasn't in the least devoted,"
interrupted Sir Horace. "I shouldn't
have kept her with me if she'd been
troublesome. Never was: good little
thing, Sophy! But now the thing
is, Lizzie, I'm in something of a fix.
I want you to take care of Sophy
while I'm in South America."
"South America?" gasped Lady
Ombersley.
"Brazil. I don't expect to be
away for very long, but I can't take
my little Sophy, and I can't leave
her with Tilly, because Tilly's dead.
Died in Vienna a couple of years
ago. A devilish inconvenient thing
to do, but I daresay she didn't mean
it."
"Tilly?" said Lady Ombersley, all
at sea.
"Lord, Elizabeth, don't keep on
repeating everything I say! Shock-
ing bad habit! Miss Tillingham,
Sophy's governess."
"Good heavens! Do you mean to
tell me that the child has no gov-
erness now?"
"Of course she has not! She don't
need a governess. I always found
plenty of chaperons for her when
we were in Paris, and in Lisbon it
don't signify. But I can't leave her
alone in England."
. "Indeed, I should think not! But,
my dearest Horace, though I would
do anything to oblige you, I am not
quite sure-"
"Nonsense!" said Sir Horace brac
ingly. "She'll be a nice companion
for your girl-what's her name?
Cecelia? What's more, she won't
cause you any trouble. She has her
head well on her shoulders, my
Sophy. I never worry about her."
An intimate knowledge of her
brother's character made it perfectly
possible for Lady Ombersley to be-
lieve this, but, since she herself was
blessed with much the same easy-
going temperament, no acid com
Please turn to page 10
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How do you do? I am so
nappy to be with you," Sophy
blithely greeted her dazed

aunt and cousins.

Continuing

- ^

The Grand SophJ

am sure she must be a dear

girl," she said. "But, you see,

Horace-"

"And another thing is that
it's time we were thinking of a
husband for her," pursued Sir
Horace, seating himself in a
chair on the opposite side of the
fireplace. "I knew I could de-
pend on you. Dash it, you're
her aunt! My only sister, too."

"I should be only too happy
to bring her out," said Lady
Ombersley wistfully. "But the
thing is I don't think-I am
rather afraid-you see, what
with the really dreadful expense
of presenting Cecilia last year,
and dearest Maria's wedding
only a little time before that,
and Hubert's going up to Ox-
ford, not to mention the fees at
Eton for poor Theodore-"

"If it's expense that bothers
you, Lizzie, you needn't give
it a thought, for I'll stand the

nonsense. You won't have to
present her at Court: I'll attend
to all that when I come home.
What I want now is for her to
go about with her cousins, meet
the right set of people - you
know the style of thing!"

"Of course I know, and as for
trouble it would be no such
thing! But I cannot help feel-
ing that perhaps-perhaps it

would not do! We do not
entertain very much."

"Well, with a pack of girls
on your hands you ought to,"
said Sir Horace bluntly.

"But, Horace, I have not got
a pack of girls on my hands!"
protested Lady Ombersley.
"Selina is only sixteen and Ger-
trude and Amabel are barely
out of the nursery! And though
nothing has yet been an-
nounced," she added, "I don't
scruple to tell you that Cecilia
is about to contract a very
eligible alliance."

"That's good," said Sir
Horace. "You'll have leisure to
look about you for a husband
for Sophy. Whom have you got

for Cecilia ?"

"Lord Chadbury has asked
Ombersley's permission to ad-
dress her," said her sister,
swelling a little with pride.

"Chadbury, eh?" said Sir
Horace. "Very well indeed,
Elizabeth! I must say I didn't
think you'd catch much of a
prize, because looks aren't
everything, and Ombersley was
running through his fortune
when I last saw him. I hope
you may manage as prettily for
Sophy!"

"Indeed, I wish I might!" she
responded, sighing. "Only it is
an awkward moment, because
-The thing is, you see, that
I am afraid Charles may not
quite like it! You remember
Charles?"

"If you're talking about that
eldest boy of yours, of course I
remember him! But why the
devil should he object to my
Sophy ?"

"Oh, no, not to her! I am
sure he could not do so! But
I fear he may not like it if we
are to be plunged into gaiety
just now! I daresay you may
not have seen the announce-
ment of his own approaching
marriage, but I should tell you
that he has contracted an en-
gagement to Miss Wraxton."

"What, not old Brinklow's
daughter? Upon my word
Lizzie, you have been busy to
some purpose! Never knew you
had so much sense! Eligible,
indeed! You are to be con-
gratulated!"

"Yes," said Lady Ombersley.
"Oh, yes! Miss Wraxton is a
most superior girl. I am sure
she has a thousand excellent
qualities. A most well-informed
mind, and principles such as
must command respect."

"She sounds to me like a
dead bore," said Sir Horace
frankly. "But still, none of
this explains why you should be
caring a fig for what your son
likes or dislikes."

Lady Ombersley transferred
her gaze from the glowing coals
to his face. "You do not per-
fectly understand, Horace. You
see-Matthew Rivenhall left his
whole fortune to Charles!"

Sir Horace stared fixedly at
his sister. "You don't mean that
old uncle of Ombersley's ?" he
asked, "The very rich one ?"

"Yes, and we always thought
-but he said Charles was the
only Rivenhall other than him-
self who had the least grain of
sense, and he left him every-
thing!"

"H'm! So it is Charles who
calls the tune!" said Sir Horace.

"No one could have been
more generous," said Lady Om-
bersley unhappily. "We cannot
but bc sensible of it, but the
fact is poor Ombersley had a
great many debts."

Sir Horace said, with what
for him was strong feeling:
"Outrageous! I don't say Om-
bersley's not a shocking loose
screw, but to be cutting a man
out of one's will and setting up

his son to lord it over him -
which I'll be bound he does!"

"Oh!" cried Lady Ombersley,
distressed. "I did not wish you
to think-to give you cause to
suppose that Charles is ever dis-
agreeable, for indeed he is not,
except when he is put out of
temper, and one must own that
he has a great deal to try his
patience! Which is why I can't
but feel, dear Horace, that if he
does not like me to take charge
of Sophia for you, I ought not

to tease him!"

"Fiddlesticks!" said Sir
Horace. "And why shouldn't

he like it?"

"We-we had decided not to
give any parties this season, be-
yond what must be thought
necessary. It is a most un-
fortunate circumstance that
Charles' wedding has had to be
postponed, on account of a be-
reavement Miss Wraxton has
suffered. One of Lady Brink
low's sisters, and they will not
be out of black gloves for six

months."

"But a man don't have to
wear black gloves for the aunt
of a female he ain't even mar-
ried to!"

"Of course not, but Charles
seemed to feel-and then there
is Charlbury!'

"What the devil ails him?"

"Mumps," replied Lady Om-
bersley tragically.

"Eh?" Sir Horace burst out
laughing. "Well, what a fellow
he must be to have the mumps
when he should be getting mar-

ried to Cecilia!"

"Really, Horace, I must say
that I think that most unjust of
you, for how could he help it?
It is so mortifying for him!
And, what is more, excessively
unfortunate, because I don't
doubt that had he been able to

attach Cecilia-but girls are so
foolish, and take romantical no-
tions into their heads, besides
all kinds of encroaching fancies
-Oh, nothing could be more
ill-timed than Charlbury's
mumps!"

Sir Horace regarded her with
an amused and a sapient eye.
"And what is Miss Cecilia's par-
ticular encroaching fancy?" he
inquired.

Lady Ombersley knew thal
her eldest son would have coun-
selled her to preserve a discreet
silence; but the impulse to un-
burden herself to her brothel
was too strong. She said: "Well
you will not repeat it, I know
Horace, but the fact is that the
silly child thinks she is in love
with Augustus Fawnhope!"

"One of Lutterworth's boys?'
asked Sir Horace. "I don't
think much of that for a match
I must say!"

"Good heavens, don't mentior
such a thing! The younges

son, too, with not the least ex-
pectation in the world! But h<
is a poet."

"Very dangerous," agreed Sii
Horace. "Don't think I eve:
saw the boy: what's he like ?"

"Quite beautiful!" said Lad?
Ombersley, in despairing ac

cents.

"What, in the style of Lort
Byron? That fellow has a grra
deal to answer for!"

"N-no. I mean, he is as fai

as Cecilia is bene if, and he
doesn't limp, and though his
poems arc very pretty, bound
up in white vellum, they don't
seem to take very well. I mean,
not at all like Lord Byron's."

"Now I come to think of it,"
said Sir Horace, "I do know the
boy. He was with Stuart, in
Brussels last year. If you take
my advice, you'll marry Cecilia
off to Charlbury as quickly as

you can!"

"Well, and so I would, if only
-that is to say, of course I
would not, if I thought she held
him in aversion! And you must
see, Horace, that it is quite
out of my power to do anything
of the sort when he is in bed
with the mumps!"

Sir Horace, who was already
bored with the subject, yawned.

"Ah, well, when she has her
cousin to keep her company it
will divert her, and very likely
give her thoughts another direc-
tion," he said.

Lady Ombersley appeared to
be much struck by this sugges-
tion. Her face brightened; she
said: "I wonder if it might be
so? She is a little shy, you
must know, and does not make
friends easily. Now, if we had
dear Sophit to stav with
us . . ."

She broke off, obviously turn-
ing plans over in her mind. She
was still engaged on this exer-
cise when the door opened and

her eldest son entered the
saloon.

The Honorable Charles Riven
hall was twenty-six years old,
but a rather harsh-featured
countenance, coupled with a

manner that combined assur-
ance with a good deal of re-
serve, made him give the
impression of being some years
older. He was a tall, powerfully
built young man, who looked
as though he would have been
better pleased to have been
striding over his father's acres
than exchanging civilities in his
mother's sitting-room.

He nearly always wore riding
dress; tied his cravat in the
plainest of styles; would permit
only a modicum of starch to
stiffen his very moderate shirt
points; wholly disdained such
fopperies as seals, fobs, or quiz-
zing-glasses; and offended his
tailor by insisting on having his
coats cut so that he could shrug
himself into them without the
assistance of his valet.

As he shut the door behind
him, his mother looked up,
started slightly, and said with
a nervous inflection which an-

noyed her brother: "Oh,
Charles! Only fancy! Your

Uncle Horace!"

"So Dassett informed me,"
responded Mr. Rivenhall. "How
do you do, sir?"

He shook hands with hil
uncle, drew up a chair, and sat
down, civilly engaging Sir

Horace in conversation. His
mother, fidgeting first with the
fringe of her shawl and then
with her handkerchief, presently
broke in on this interchange to
say: "Charles, you remember
Sophia? Your little cousin?"

Mr: Rivenhall did not present
the appearance of one who re-
membered his little cousin, but
he said in his cool way: "Cer-
tainly. I hope she is well, sir?"

"Never had a day's illness in
her life, barring the measles,"

said Sir Horace. "You'll see
her for yourself soon: your
mother is going to take charge
of her while I'm in Brazil."

It was plain that this way of
breaking the news did not
recommend itself to Lady Om-
bersley, who at once hurried
into speech.

"Well, of course it is not de-
cided yet, though I am sure
there is nothing I should like
better than to have my dear
brother's daughter to stay with
me. I was thinking, too. Charles,
that it would be so pleasant for
Cecilia: Sophia and she are
nearly the same age, you know."

"Brazil?" said Mr. Rivenhall

"That should be very intrrest

mg, I daresay. D vou ^

a long stay'there, sir?"

"Oh, no!" replii Sj, JJ
vaguely. "Prob,, ly "ot.

will depend upon 11 uaaüa
I have been tcllin L jurmaL
that I shall be mu in ntr|n
if she can find an ligible U
band for my Sop l(¡ fa
she was marrirt ,,nd yu
mother seems, f roi i hat I ha
to bc quite a dab m thai (j
I understand I ha. to offer«
my felicitations, : . boy?"

"Thank you: j a¡¿ u
Rivenhall, with a ¿ht bow

"If you should

Charles, I own should

very happy to have Sophi,
said Lady OmU ¡cy pbc

ingly.

He cast her ari impaj
glance, and replii "J beg,
will do precisely you «j
ma'am. I cannot i nceived
business it is of mine."

"Of course I h. e expbj
to your uncle that i lead,
quiet, lives."

"She won't gi a 65

that," said Sir Hi e conj
ably. "She's a good |
thing: never at a : ss fora
thing to occupy . rselí wü

"When, sir, ma we hatti
pleasure of e. cting ¡
cousin ?" interpos- Mr Rfi

hall.

"Well," said his uncle, "i
bound to want to <? the bl
me, ¿ut she'll post p to Loi
as soon as I've sa Vd." :

"Post up to Lo ion ail
as-Horace, sut' you 1
bring her to mr gasped
sister, quite scanci ? .sed. "Ai
of her age travel. ,e alow!

never heard of su a thinr!

"Won't be alot She'll 1
her maid with li -dragon
a woman, she is: mraeyed
over Europe with .'- andj
Potton as well.' He cai
sight of his nr[ hew's a
brows and felt hi elf impd
to add: "Groom couria
general factotum' l.ookedi
Sophy since she s a baby!

Drawing out i watch,
Horace added . rriedly,

must be off, 1 ie. I i
rely upon you take 1
of Sophy, and li k about
a match. It's ii portant,
cause-but I've 1 time to
plain that now' ll tell
all about it, I expect."

He then kissed .er in 1
functory style, be- wed ano
of his hearty p - upon
shoulder, and tu himself
followed by his hew

"Just as if I ha.! othingl
to wish for!" La Ornbi
said indignantly, hen Ck

came back into th room.

I have not the lea- notioni
that child is to 1 to«'

"It doesn't mfy,"

Charles, with at indiffo
she found exaspe ting,

will give orders r a roo
be prepared for 1 ,1 «ft
and she may ci

pleases. It's to be opcdCi
likes her, since ' mugil*
will be obliged ti <ce the

of her."

"Poor little tl ng!" «
Lady Ombersley I dect
quite long to mother
Charles! What a strange,!

life she must lead!''

"Strange, certa - Iv," k
dryly. "I trust vou *»
have cause to reu t youl'
ness, Mama."

"Oh, no, I at- «ure 1

not!" she said. "Youl '
spoke of her in si h a wu
gave me the gre. est dei

welcome her! I have l*
of her being a 1

panion for Cecil- 1

"I hope so," said Ç

"And that reminds me,*
I have just inter, pted *
of that puppy's ral efl
to my sister. This

attached to it."

Lady Ombersley W>
proffered missive indi*

it in dismav. "V
with it?" she ns'

"Put it on the fm

Please turn tn p*ff

Continuing .... The Grand Sophy

Rivenhall grimly, holding out
an imperative hand.

Lady Ombersley, always
overborne by a stronger will,
was just about to give the letter
to him when a trembling voice
from the doorway arrested her:
"Mama! Do not!"

Lady Ombersley's hand
dropped; Mr. Rivenhall turned
sharply, a frown on his brow.
His sister, casting him a look
of burning reproach, ran across
the room and twitched the
letter from her mother's fingers.

"How dared you, Charles!"

Her soft blue eyes swam with
tears; she said in a low voice:

"You want me to be un-
happy. Oh, I hate you! I hate
you!"

He glanced over his shoulder
at her. "It would be useless, I
collect, to say that my earnest
wish is that you should not
be made unhappy!"

She returned no answer, but
folded her letter with shaking
hands and bestowed it in her
bosom, throwing a defiant look
at him as she did so.

Cecilia was a very lovely
girl, with pale golden locks
arranged in ringlets about an
exquisitely shaped face whose
delicate complexion was at the
moment heightened, not unbe-
comingly, by an angry flush.

"I tell you, Charles," she
said. "Augustus is the only

man for whom I could ever feel
that degree of attachment which
-in short, I beg you will aban-
don any notion you may have

that I could ever entertain Lord
Charlbury's extremely flattering
proposal, for I never shall!"

Lady Ombersley uttered a
distressful but incoherent pro-
test; Mr. Rivenhall said in his
prosaic way: "Yet you were not,
I fancy, so much averse from
Charlbury's proposal when it
was first told you."

Cecilia turned her lambent
gaze upon him, and answered:
"I had not then met Augustus."

Lady Ombersley appeared to
be a good deal struck by the
logic of this pronouncement,
but her son was less impression-

able. He said: "Don't waste
these high flights on me, I beg
of you! You have been ac-
quainted with young Fawnhope
any time these nineteen years."

"It was not the same," said
Cecilia simply.

"That," said Lady Ombers-
ley, in a judicial way, "is per-
fectly true, Charles. I am sure
he was the most ordinary little
boy. But the time he spent in

Brussels with Sir Charles Stuart

improved him out of all know-
ledge! I own, I never should

have known him for the same
man!"

"I have sometimes wondered,"
retorted Mr. Rivenhall,
"whether Sir Charles will ever
be the same man again either!
How Lady Lutterworth can
have reconciled with her con-
science to have foisted upon
a public man such a nin-

compoop to be hil tec
retary I must leave it to
herself to decide! All we are

privileged to know is that your
precious Augustus no longer
fills that office! Or any other!"
he added trenchantly.

"Augustus," said Cecilia
loftily, "is a poet. He is quite
unfitted for the-the humdrum
business of an ambassador's sec-
retary."

"I do not deny it," said Mr.
Rivenhall. "He is equally un-
fitted to support a wife, my dear
sister. Do not imagine that I
will frank you in this folly, for
I tell you I will not! A poet!
Mama, if you cannot prevail
upon her to conduct herself in
a sensible, reasonable manner,
she had better be sent down
to Ombersley to rusticate for
a while, and see if that will
bring her to her senses!"

With this terrible threat he
strode out of the room, leaving
his sister to dissolve into tears
and his mother to recruit her
strength through the medium

of her vinaigrette.

Presently uneasy silence fell.
Cecilia at length broke it,
asking rather listlessly whether
it was true that her uncle had
been in the house that afternoon.

Glad of an excuse to talk of
more cheerful matters, Lady
Ombersley at once told her of
the treat in store for her, and
had the satisfaction of seeing
the cloud lift a little from her
daughter's brow.

The reflection that Sophia's
arrival in Berkeley Square must

mean some relaxation of the

almost conventual life imposed
upon the family by Charles'
determination to economise sent
her away to change her dress
for dinner in a far happier

frame of mind.

Four of the family sat down
at the huge table in the dining
room that evening, his lordship
having decided to gratify his
wife with one of his rare ap-
pearances at his own board. He
was the only unconstrained
member of the party, for he
had a happier disposition, which
made it possible for him to re-
main oblivious to the most
blatant signs or discontent in
his companions.

Dinner at an end, Lord Om-
bersley withdrew from the
family circle. Charles accom-
panied his mother and sister to
the drawing-room, and, after a
few moments, the schoolroom
party came into the room,
escorted by Miss Adderbury, a
litüe grey mouse of a woman
who had originally been hired
to take charge of Lady Ombers
ley's numerous offspring when
Charles and Maria had been
adjudged old enough to leave
nurse's jealous care.

Those of her pupils who had
outgrown her care found her
shyness and her anxiety to
please tiresome, but they could
never forget her kindness to
them in their schoolroom days,
and always treated her with
something more than civility.

So Cecilia smiled at her, and
Charles said: "Well, Addy, and
how are you to-day?" Which
slight attentions made her grow
pink with pleasure and stam-
mer a good deal in her replies.

Her charges now numbered
three only, for Theodore, the
youngest son of the house, had
lately been sent to Eton. Selina,
a sharp-looking damsel of six-
teen, went to sit beside her
sister on the pianoforte-stool;
and Gertrude, bidding fair, at
twelve, to rival Cecilia in
beauty, and Amabel, ' a stout
ten-year-old, cast themselves
upon their brother, with loud
professions of delight at seeing
him and rather louder remind-
ers to him of a promise he had
made them to play at lottery
tickets the very next time he
should spend an evening at

home.

Miss Adderbury, kindly in-
vited by Lady Ombersley to
take a seat by the fire, made
faint clucking noises in depre-
cation of this exuberance. She

had no hope of being attended
to, but was relieved to observe
that Lady Ombersley was re-
garding the group about Charles

with a fond smile.

Miss Adderbury had already
heard from Cecilia of Sophia's
proposed visit, and was
all eagerness to discuss
it with Lady Ombersley.
She could enter into her
ladyship's feelings upon the
event, join her in sighing over
the melancholy situation of a
girl left motherless at five years
old, and agree with her plans
for Sophia's accommodation and

amusement.

"I always know I can rely
upon you, Miss Adderbury,"
said Lady Ombersley. "Such a

comfort to me!"

In what way she was to be
relied on Miss Adderbury had
no idea, but she did not ask en-
lightenment, which was just as
well, since ber ladyship had no
idea either, and had merely ut-
tered the gratifying phrase from
a general desire to please.

Miss Adderbury said: "Oh,
Lady Ombersley! So good-!
So very obliging-! And may
I ask when you expect Miss
Stanton-Lacy ?"

"Sir Horace was able to give

from page 10

me no very precise informa-
tion," replied Lady Ombersley,
"but I understand that he ex-
pects to sail for South America
almost immediately. No doubt
my niece will be in London very
shortly. Indeed, I shall speak
to the housekeeper to-morrow
about preparing a bedchamber

for her."

But it was not until the Easter
holidays were a week old that
Sophia arrived in Berkeley
Square. The only intelligence
received by her aunt during the
intervening ten days was a brief
scrawl from Sir Horace, con-
veying the information that hil
mission was a trifle delayed but
that she would assuredly ice her
niece before very long.

The flowers which Cecilia io
prettily arranged in her couiin's
room withered and had to be
thrown away; and Mrs. Lud-
stock, a meticulously careful
housekeeper, had twice aired
the sheets before, in the middle
of a bright spring afternoon, a
post-chaise-and-four, generously

splashed with mud, drew up at
the door.

Cecilia and Selina with their
Mama were just about to ascend
the staircase when Mr. Hubert

Rivenhall came bounding down,
uttering: "It must be my cousin,
for there is a mountain of bag-
gage on the roof! Such a horse!
By Jupiter, if ever I saw such a
bang-up piece of flesh and

blood!"

This extraordinary speech
made the three ladies stare at
him in bewilderment. The
butler, who had only a minute
before withdrawn from the hall,
sailed back again, with his at-
tendant satellites, and trod
across the marble floor to thc
front door, announcing, with a
bow to his mistress, that hf
apprehended Miss Stanton
Lacy had that instant arrived.

The satellites then threw open
the double doors, and the ladies
had a clear view not only of
the equipage in the road but
of the awed and inquisitive
faces of thc younger members
of the family, who had been
playing bat-and-ball in the gar-
den of the Square and who were
now crowded close to the rail-
ings, gazing, in spite of Miss
Adderbury's remonstrances, at
the animal which had brought
Hubert in such pelting haste
down the stairs.

Miss Stanton-Lacy's arrival
was certainly impressive. Four
steaming horses drew her chaisr,
two outriders accompanied it,
and behind it rode a middle

aged groom leading a splendid

black horse.

The steps of the chaise were
let down, the door opened, and
out leaped an Italian grey-
hound, to be followed a mo

ment later by a rather harassed
looking female holding a dress-
ing-bag, three parasols, and a
bird-cage.

Lastly, Miss Stan ton-Lacy
herself descended, thanking the
footman for his proffered help,
but requesting him instead to
hold her poor little Jacko. Her
poor little Jacko was seen to be
a monkey in a scarlet coat, and
no sooner had this magnificent
fact dawned on the schoolroom
party than they burst into de-
lighted shouts, "A monkey! She
has brought a monkey!"

Lady Ombersley, meanwhile,
standing as though rooted to
her own doorstep, was realising,
with strong indignation, that
the light in which a gentleman
of great height and large pro-
portions regarded his daughter
had been misleading. Sir
Horace's little Sophy stood five
feet nine inches in her stock-
inged feet, and was built on
generous lines, a long-legged,
deep-bosomed creature, with a
merry face and a quantity of
glossy reddish-brown ringlets
under one of the most dashing
hats her cousins had ever seen.

A long sable stole was slipping

from her shoulders and she car-
ried an enormous sable muff.

Her dazed aunt watched her
smiling at the children, saying
laughingly: "I am your cousin
Sophia, but pray won't you call
me Sophy? If anyone calls
me Sophia I think I am in dis-
grace, which is a very uncom-
fortable thing."

"If you please, may I talk to
the monkey?" stammered the
youngest Miss Rivenhall.

"Of course you may, for I
brought him for you. Only be
a little gentle with him at first,
because he is shy, you know."

"Brought him for me?"
gasped Amabel, quite pale with

excitement.

"For you all," said Sophy,
embracing Gertrude and Theo-
dore in her warm smile. "And

also the parrot. Do you like
pets better than toys and books?
I always did, so I thought very
likely you would too."

"Cousin!" said Hubert,
breaking in on the fervent as-
surances of his juniors that their
new relative had gauged their
tastes with an accuracy utterly
unequalled in all their experi-
ence of adults. "Is that your

horse ?"

She turned, surveying him

with a certain unselfconscious

candor, the smile still lingering
on her mouth. "Yes, that is
Salamanca. Do you like him ?"

"By Jove, I should think I do!
Is he Spanish ? Did you bring
him from Portugal ?"

Miss Adderbury, meanwhile,
was firmly marshalling her
young charges away, amid a
clamor.

"Cousin Sophy, what is your
dear little dog's name? What
kind of a dog is it?"

"Cousin Sophy, can the
parrot talk ? Addy, may we
keep it in the schoolroom ?"

"Mama, Mama, Cousin Sophy
has brought us a monkey!"

This last shout, from Theo-
dore, made Sophy look quickly
round. Perceiving her aunt and
her two other cousins in the

doorway, she hurried up the
steps, exclaiming: "Dear Aunt
Elizabeth! I beg your pardon!
I was making friends with thc
children! How do you do? I am
so happy to be with you! Thank
you for letting me come to
you!"

Lady Ombersley was still
dazed, still clutching feebly at
the fast-vanishing picture of
the shy little niece of her im-
aginings, but at these words
that insipid damsel was cast into
the limbo of things unregretted
and unremembered.

She clasped Sophy in her
arms, raising her face to thc
glowing one above her, and say-
ing tremulously: "Dear, dear
Sophy! So happy! So like your
father! Welcome, dear child,

welcome!"

It was several moments be-
fore she could recollect herself

enough to introduce Sophy to
Cecilia and Selina. Sophy
stared at Cecilia, and exclaimed:
"Are you Cecilia? But you are
so beautiful! Why don't I re-
member that?"

Cecilia, who had been feel-
ing quite overpowered, began
to laugh. You could not sus-
pect Sophy of saying things
like that only to please you:
she said exactly what came
into her head.

"Well, I did not remember,
either!" she retorted. "I thought
you were a litüe brown cousin,
ail legs and tangled hair!"

"Yes, but I am-oh, not
tangled, perhaps, but all legs,
I assure you, and dreadfully
brown! I have not grown into
a beauty! Sir Horace tells me
I must abandon all pretensions
-and he is a judge, you

know!"

Sir Horace was right: Sophy
would never be a beauty. Only
you could not forget her, even
though you could not recall the
shape of her face or the color
of her eyes.

She turned again towards her
aunt. "Will your people direct
John Potton where he may
stable Salamanca, ma'am ? Only
for to-night! And a room for
himself? I shall arrange every-
thing just as soon as I have
learnt my way about!"

Mr. Hubert Rivenhall made
haste to assure her that he
would himself conduct John
Potton to the stables. She
smiled and thanked him, and
Lady Ombersley said that there
was room and to spare for Sala-
manca in the stables and she
must not trouble her head about
such matters.

But it seemed that Sophy was
determined to trouble her head,
for she answered quickly: "No,
no, my horses are not to be a
charge on you, dear aunt! Sir
Horace most particularly
charged me to make my own ar-
rangements, if I should be set-
ting up my stable, and indeed
I mean to do so! But for to-
night it would be so kind of
you!"

There was enough here to set
her aunt's brain reeling. What
kind of a niece was this, who
set up her stable, made her own
arrangements, and called her
father Sir Horace ? Then Theo-
dore created a diversion, com-
ing up with the scared monkey
clasped in his arms, demand-
ing that she should tell Addy
that he might take it to the

schoolroom.

Lady Ombersley shrank from
the monkey, and said feekly:
"My love, I don't think-oh,
dear, whatever will Charles
say ?"

"Charles is not such a muff
as to be afraid of a monkey!" de-
clared Theodore. "Oh, Mama,
pray tell Addy we may keep

it!"

"Indeed, Jacko will not bite
anyone!" Sophy said. "I have
had him with me for close on a
week, and he is the gentlest
creature! You will not banish
him, Miss-Miss Addy? No, I
know that is wrong!"

"Miss Adderbury - but we
always call her Addy!" Cecilia
explained.

"How do you do?" Sophy
said, holding out her hand.
"Forgive me! It was impertin-
ent, but I did not know! Do
permit the children to keep poor
Jacko!"

Between her dismay at having
a monkey thrust upon her and
her desire to please this glow-
ing girl, who smiled so kindly
down at her and extended her
hand with such frank good-
nature, Miss Adderbury lost
herself in a morass of half

sentences.

Lady Omberiley said that
they must ask Charles, a remark
which was at once interpreted
as permission to take Jacko up
to the schoolroom, none of the
children thinking so poorly of
their brother as to believe that
he would raise the least objec-
tion to their new pet.

Sophy was then led up to the
Blue Saloon, where she at once
cast her sabres on to a chair,
unbuttoned her pelisse, and

tossed off her modish hat. Ht, <
aunt, fondly drawing h^r down
to sit beside her on the »of«
asked if she were tired from tte
long journey and if sh would
like to take some rein r.hment

"No, indeed! Thank you, but
I am never tired, and bough
it was a trifle tedious 1 could
not count it as a journey!"
Sophy replied. "I should have
been with you this niornint

only that I was oblige to g0

first to Merton."

"Go first to Merton ?' echoed
Lady Ombersley. "B why

my love ?"

"Only to take Sand; to her
new home," Sophy explained.
"That was why you saw nu
with those absurd outrides
Nothing will convin poor
Sancia that English roads art
not infested with bai s and
guérilleros!"

"But who is Sancia ?" de.
manded Lady Ombersley, ¡j

some bewilderment.

"Oh, she is the Mar rsa dt
Villacanas! Did Sir Hoiacenot
tell you her name ? V ou will
like her-indeed, you r;iust like
her! She it quite stupid, and
dreadfully indolent, 'ike all
Spaniards, but so pretty and
good-natured!"

She saw that her aunt wu
now wholly perplexed, .md her
straight, rather thick browi
drew together. "You don't
know? He did not tell you?
Now, how infamous of him! Sir
Horace is going to marry

Sancia."

"What?" gasped Lady Om
bersley.

Sophy leaned forwar ! to take
her hand, and to press il coax-
ingly. "Yes, indeed ht is, and
you must be glad, if you please,
because she will suit him very
well. She is a widow, md ex-
tremely wealthy."

"A Spaniard!" said Lady
Ombersley. "He never breathed
a word of this to me! And when,
pray, my dear, does he .nean to
marry this Marquesa ?

"Well," said Sophy seriously,
"that, I fancy, is whv he did
not care to explain it a!! to you.
Sir Horace cannot mar: Sandi
until I am off his hands. It il
so awkward for him, pi i dear!
I have promised to do \ ben,
but I cannot engage to marry
anyone I don't liki And
Sancia says she does not at all
wish to be my stepmama."

Lady Ombersley wa« smitten

to the heart.

"My poor child!" sae laid,
laying a hand on Soph s knee
"You are so brave, but IU mai
confide in mc! She 1« jealoui
of you: I believe all Spaniard!
have the most shocking jealous
natures! It is too bad of Horace!
IT I had known this- ' Is ¡ht
unkind, Sophy? Doe- she dis-
like you ?"

Sophy went off intr a pell
of laughter.

"Oh, no, no, no! I am nut
she never disliked anyone in all
her life! Thc thing that J

the marries Sir Hor.i e while
I am still on his hands eryonr
will expect her to beha>e tome
like a mama, and she ii murk
too lazy! Then, too, with tot
best will in the world. 1 might
continue to manage Sii Horace,
and his house, and e \ ry thins
that I have been accustomed to
do. We have talked it over, ami
the sayi that she has the itreatt»
imaginable affection for me, bul
.hare a house with me she «ll

not."

"She sounds a very odd »"
of a woman," said Lady Om-
bersley disapprovingly "A*
why does she live in Merton!"

"Oh, Sir Horace hired the
prettiest villa for her there.

She meant to live retirrd until
he comet back to England
That," said Sophy, with >
gurgle of mirth, "is because te
ii io excettively idle. Sir Hon«
says she is the most reit'1''
female of hit acquaintance.

She bent to ttroke her li*
dog, which had all thc «*
been titting at her feet "Ex«P'
Tina here, of course' Dc"
ma'am, I hope you (li not Wj

like dogs? She is very g«»'

promise you, and I could n°>

part with her!"

Lady Omberiley assured h"

continuing.... The Grand Sophy

-

,, ¿e h.i no objection to
C. but was by no means

J£| to monkeys. Sophy

and said: "Oh, dear!

Jit wron< of me to bring

L for the . hildren ? Only

J, I saw fun, in Bristol, he
^ io a to be just the
£gj And now that I have
fa bim to them, I daresay
rTU be did >ult to persuade
fen » g"* :,n UP"

]¿. O bcrsïey rather
juujht that t would be im-
pide, and s there did not
¡¡¿lobe ai' 'hing more to bc
^ on thc si K-ct, and she was
Itdin? quite oemused by her
¿ct's vsriou disclosures, she
gratti thai Cecilia should
¿rt Sophv ip to her room,
¿crt she «l* Jd no doubt like
u rest for a while before chang-
sha dre« for dinner.

Cecilia ros with alacrity.
She did not suppose that Sophy
"¿ed to rest, for she was
¿a¿y com; rd that a créa-
it io full of vitality rarely
0¿ in need of rest. But she
«ianxious ti make a friend of
itt ai soon as possible. So
"ben it was discovered that
Jophy'i mail! was unpacking
Jd trunk« in her bedchamber,
ike bemired S phy to come to
grown roon !or a chat.

Cecilia's disposition was shy,
jct within a \ ry few minutes
ii« found herself pouring into
itt cousin's ears some at least
of thc evils of ocr situation.

Sophy listened to her with
ansi and 1 npathy, but the
autant recurrence of Mr.
üvcnhall's name seemed to
punic her, and she presently
ilrmipted to -av: "I beg your
pinion, but tl s Charles-is he
?ot your brother?"

Mv ddei brother," said

Otilia.

Well, thal s what I col-
tan). But w;iat has he to say
( anything?"

Cecilia ligiV ' "You will soon
fcovtr, Sophv, that nothing
nv be done ?? this house with-
al! Charles' s.mction. It is he
»ko orders "verything, ar
?p ever; ng, and rules
wything!"

"Now, let me understand

: S hy. "My uncle
bi jot died, 1¡ s he ? I am sure
Sir Horace never told me so!"

Oh, no! B t-well, the fact
i when ny great-uncle
Matthew died he left all his

to Charlea. I don't

ndentand ex tly how it was,
b l believe ( lades did some

i<ages, and it
«sm to have laced Papa quite
» hil power.''

Dear me, ! w very uncom-
fortable it must be for your
ftn!" remark d Sophy. "My

*«« Charles sounds a most
istreeable creature!*'

He ii qui odious!" said
Wa- "I sometime* think he

takes a delight in making every-
one miserable, for I am sure he
grudges us the least pleasure,
and is only anxious to marry us
to respectable men with large
fortunes, who are quite middle
aged, and sober, and can do
nothing but catch the mumps!"

Since Sophy was far too in-
telligent to suppose that this
embittered speech was a mere
generalisation, she at once
pressed Cecilia to tell her more
about the respectable man with
mumps, and after a little hesi-
tation, and a good deal of cir-
cumlocution, Cecilia not only
divulged that a marriage be-

tween herself and Lord Chad-
bury had been arranged
(though not as yet announced),
but favored her with a word
picture of the Honorable Augus-
tus Fawnhope which must have
seemed like the ravings of de-
lirium to anyone who had not
been privileged to behold that

young man.

But Sophy had already met
Mr. Fawnhope, and instead of
coaxing her cousin to lie down
upon her bed with a cooling
draught, she said in the most
matter-of-fact way: "Yes, very

true. I have never seen Lord
Byron, but they tell me that
he is nothing to Mr. Fawnhope.
He is quite the most handsome
man I think I ever saw."

"You know Augustus!"
Cecilia breathed, clasping her
hands at her palpitating bosom.

"Yes-that is to say, I am
acquainted with him. I fancy
I danced with him once or twice
at the balls in Brussels last year.
Was he not attached to Sir

Charles Stuart in some cap-
acity?"

"One of his secretaries, but
Augustus is a poet, and of course
he has no head for business, or
affairs, which is a circumstance
that disgusts Charles more than
all the rest, I believe! But if
I do not care for such things as
fortunes or titles, what concern
is it of Charles' ?"

"None at all," said Sophy.
"Dear Cecilia, don't cry, I beg
of you! Only tell me this-does
your Mama dislike the notion
of your marrying Mr. Fawn-
hope ?"

"Dearest Mama has such sen-
sibility that 1 know she must
feel for me!" declared Cecilia,
obediently drying her eyes. "She
has as good as told me so, but
she dare not withstand Charles!
That, Sophy, is what governs all
in this house!"

"Sir Horace is always right!"
declared Sophy, rising, and
shaking out her skirts. "He as-
sured me that I should find
something to be busy with in my
aunt's house, and already this
proves him right. My dear
Cecilia-oh, may I call you
! Cecy instead? Cecilia! Such

j a mouthful!-only trust me!

t You have fallen into a fit of

¡ despondency, and there is not
Í the least need; when a little
! resolution is all that is wanted
[ to bring matters to a happy con-

clusion. I must go to my room
and dress for dinner or I shall
I be late, and there is nothing

¡ more odious than a guest who
( comes late to meals!"

I "But, Sophy, what can you

I possibly mean ?" gasped Cecilia.

I "What can you do to help me ?"
' "I have not the least notion,
, but I daresay a hundred things.
I Cecy, do come with me to my
j bedroom! Sir Horace desired
I me to choose mantillas for you
i and my aunt, and I daresay

\ Jane will have unpacked them
i by now. How clever it was of

1 me to have selected a white one

\ for you! I am by far too brown
I complexioned to wear white,
1 but you will look enchanting in
! it!"

1 She then swept Cecilia off

to her own room, where she
found the mantillas, carefully
wrapped in silver paper, one of
which she instantly carried to
Lady Ombersley's dressing
room, declaring that Sir Horace
had charged her to present it,
with his love, to his dear sister.

Lady Ombersley was de

lighted with the mantilla, a
particularly handsome black
one; and much touched (as she
afterwards told Cecilia) by the
message that went with it, not
one word of which did she be-
lieve, but which showed, she
said, such thoughtful delicacy
in her niece.

By the time Sophy, had
changed her travelling dress for
an evening gown of pale green
crepe, festooned at the bottom
with rich silk trimming, and
confined at the waist with a
cord and tassels, Cecilia had
completed her own toilet, and
was waiting to escort her down-
stairs to the drawing-room.

Cecilia, tastefully but not
strikingly attired in sprigged
muslin, with a blue sash, sup-
posed enviously that Sophy had
had her gown made in Paris.
She was quite right; nearly
all Sophy's dresses came from

Paris.

"One consolation," said
Cecilia naively, "is that Eu-
genia will dislike it excessively!"

"Good gracious, who is Eu-
genia?" exclaimed Sophy,
wheeling round upon her dress-
ing-stool. "Why should she
dislike it? I don't think it ugly,
do you?"

"No, of course I do not!" re-
sponded Cecilia. "But Eugenia
never wears modish gowns. She
says there are more important
things to think of than one's
dresses."

"What a stupid thing to say!"
remarked Sophy. "Naturally
there are, but not, I hold, when
one is dressing for dinner. Who

is she ?"

"Miss Wraxton: Charles is
betrothed to her, and Mama

sent to warn me a few minutes

ago that she is dining here to-
night. We had all of us for-
gotten it in the busdc of your
arrival. I daresay she will be
in the drawing-room already,
for she is always very punctual.
Are you ready? Shall we go

down ?"

When they entered the draw-
ing-room, Lady Ombersley, her
two elder sons, and Miss Wrax-
ton were seated in a group
about the fire. All looked round
at the opening of the door, and
the two gentlemen rose to their
feet, Hubert gazing at his
cousin in frank admiration,
Charles looking her over critic-
ally.

"Come in, dear Sophy!" Lady
Ombersley said, in a welcoming

tone. "You see that I am

wearing the beautiful mantilla
instead of a shawl! Such exqui-
site lace! Miss Wraxton has
been much admiring it. You
will let me introduce Miss

Stanton-Lacy to you, my dear
Eugenia. Cecilia will have told
you, Sophy, that we are soon
to have the joy of counting
Miss Wraxton one of the
family."

"Yes, indeed!" said Sophy,
smiling, and holding, out her
hand. "I wish you very happy,
Miss Wraxton, and my cousin
also." She turned, having
briefly clasped Miss Wraxton's
hand, and extended her own to
Charles. "How do you do?"

He shook hands, and dis-
covered that he was being
looked at in a manner quite as
critical as his own. This sur-

prised him, but it amused him
too, and he smiled. "How do
you do? I shall not say that
I remember you very well,
cousin, for I am sure that
neither of us has the least recol-
lection of the other!"

She laughed. "Very true!
Not even Aunt Elizabeth could
remember mc! Cousin-Hubert,
is it?-tell me, if you please,
about Salamanca, and John
Potton! Did you see both
safely bestowed ?"

She moved a little aside, to
talk to Hubert. Lady Ombers-
ley, who had been anxiously
watching her son, was relieved
to see that he was looking per-
fectly amiable, even rather ap-
preciative. A half smile lin-
gered on his lips, and he con-
tinued to observe Sophy until

his attention was recalled by his
betrothed.

The Honorable Eugenia
Wraxton was a slender young
woman, rather above the aver-
age height, who was accustomed
to hearing herself described as
a tall, elegant girl. The daugh-
ter of a viscount, her features
were aristocratic, and she was
generally held to be a good
looking girl, if a trifle colorless.
She was dressed with propriety
but great modesty in a gown of
dove-colored crepe, whose
sober hue seemed to indicate
her mourning estate.

Her manners were gracious,
and she took pains to put people

at their ease. She had had
every intention of being par-
ticularly gracious to Sophy, but

when she rose to shake hands
with her she had found herself
looking up into Sophy's face,
which made it very difficult to
be gracious. She felt a little
ruffled for a moment, but over-
came this, and said to Charles
in a low voice, and with her
calm smile: "How very tall Miss
Stanton-Lacy is! I am quite

dwarfed."

"Yes, too tall," he replied.

She could not help being glad
that he apparently did not ad-
mire his cousin, for although
she perceived on closer scrutiny
that Sophy was not as hand-
some as herself, her first impres-
sion had been of a very strik-
ing young woman. She now
saw that she had been misled
by the size and brilliance of
Sophy's eyes. She said, "Per-
haps, a trifle, but she is very
graceful."

J^JLT this moment,

Sophy went to sit down beside
her aunt, and Charles caught
sight of the fairylike little
greyhound, which had been
clinging close to her skirts,
not liking so many strangers.
His brows rose; he said: "We
seem to have two guests.
What is her name, cousin ?"

He was holding down his
hand to the greyhound, but
Sophy said: "Tina. I am afraid
she will not go to you: she is
very shy."

"Oh, yes, she will!" he re-
plied, snapping his fingers.

His cool certainty annoyed
Sophy, but when she saw that
he was quite right, and
watched her pet making coquet-
tish overtures of friendship, she
forgave him, and was inclined

to think he could not be as
black as he had been painted.

"What a pretty little

creature!" remarked Miss
Wraxton amiably. "I am not,
in general, fond of pets in the
house-my Mama, dear Lady
Ombersley, will never have even
a cat, you know-but I am sure
this must be quite an excep-

tion."

"Mama has a great liking for
pet dogs," said Cecilia. "We
are not usually without one, are
we, ma'am ?"

"Fat and overfed pugs," said
Charles, with a grimace at his
mother. "I prefer this elegant
lady, I confess."

"Oh, that is not the most
famous of Cousin Sophy's pets!"

declared Hubert. "You wait
until you sec what else she has
brought from Portugal!"

Lady Ombersley stirred un-
easily, for she had not yet
broken the news to her eldest
son that a monkey in a red
coat was now King of the
Schoolroom. But Charles only
said: "I understand, cousin, that
you have brought your horse
with you too. Hubert can talk
of nothing else. Spanish ?"

"Yes, and Mameluke-trained.
He is very beautiful."

'TH go bail you're a famous
horsewoman, cousin!" Hubert

said.

"I don't know that. I have
had to ride a great deal."

The door opened just then,
but not, as Lady Ombersley had
expected, to admit her butler,

with an announcement that

dinner awaited her pleasure.

Her husband walked in, an-
nouncing that he must just
catch a glimpse of his little
niece before going off to

Whites.

Lady Ombersley felt that it
was bad enough for him to have
refused to dine at home in Miss
Wraxton's honor without this
added piece of casual behaviour,
but she did not let her irritation
appear, merely saying: "She is
not so very little, after all, my
love, as you may see."

"Good Gad!" exclaimed his
lordship, as Sophy rose to greet
him. Then he burst out laugh-
ing, embraced Sophy, and said:
"Well, well, well! You're almost
as tall as your father, my dear!
Devilish like him, too, now I
come to look at you!"

"Miss Wraxton, Lord Om-
bersley," said his wife reprov-
ingly.

"Eh ? Oh, yes, how-de-do ?"
said his lordship, bestowing a

cheerful nod on Miss Wraxton.
"I count you as one of the
family, and stand on no cere-
mony with you. Come and sit
down beside me, Sophy, and tell
me how your father does these
days!" He then drew Sophy
to a sofa, and plunged into ani-
mated conversation, recalling in-
cidents thirty years old, and
laughing heartily over them.

He was always well disposed
towards pretty young women,
and when they added liveliness
to their charms, and guessed
exactly how he liked to conduct
a flirtation, he enjoyed himself
very much in their company,
and was in no hurry to leave

them.

When, some minutes later,
Dassett came in to announce
dinner, he exclaimed: "What's
that ? Dinner-time already ? I
declare, I'll dine at home after

all!"

He then took Sophy down on
his arm, ignoring Miss Wrax-
ton's superior claims to this
honor, and as they took their
places at the dining-table com-
manded her to tell him what
had got into her father's head
to make him go off to Peru.

"Not Peru: Brazil, sir," Sophy
replied.

"Much the same, my dear,
and just as outlandish! I never
knew such a fellow for travel-
ling all over the world! He'll
be going off to China next!"

"No, Lord Amherst went to
China," said Sophy. "Sir
Horace was wanted for Brazil
because he perfectly understands
Portuguese affairs, and it is
hoped he may be able to per-
suade the Regent to go back to
Lisbon. Marshal Beresford has
become so excessively un-
popular, you know. No wonder!
He does not know how to be
conciliating, and has not a
grain of tact."

"Marshal Beresford," Miss
Wraxton informed Charles, in
a well-modulated voice, "is a
friend of my father's."

"Then you must forgive me
for saying he has no tact," said
Sophy at once, and with her
swift smile. "It is perfectK
true, but I believe no one evei
doubted that he is a man ol
many excellent qualities. It i<
a pity that he should be mak-
ing such a rake of himself."

This made Lord Ombersley
and Hubert laugh, but Mis:
Wraxton stiffened a little, anc
Charles shot a frowning lool
across the table at his cousin, a:
though he were revising his firs
favorable impression of her.

His betrothed, who alway
conducted herself with rigit
propriety, could not, even at ai
informal family par'y, bring her
self to talk across the table, am
demonstrated her superior up
bringing by ignoring Sophy'
remark, and beginning to tal
to Charles about Dante, witl
particular reference to Mi
Cary's translation.

He listened to her with coui

tesy, but when Cecilia, folio«
ing her cousin's unconvention:
example, joined in their cor
versation to express her ow
preference for the style of Lor
Byron, he made no effort I
snub her, but, on the contrar
seemed rather to welrome hi
entrance into the discussion.

Sophy enthusiastically ap-
plauded Cecilia's taste, announ-
cing that her copy of "The

Corsair'' was so well worn as to
be in danger of disintegrating.
Miss Wraxton said that she was
unable to give an opinion on
the merits of this poein, as her
Mama did not care to have any
of his lordship's works in the

house.

Lord Ombersley then said
that they were all very bookish,
but Ruff's "Guide to the Turf'
was good enough reading for
him, and drew Sophy out of
the conversation by asking her
a great many questions about
old friends of his own whom,
since they now adorned various
Embassies, she might be counted
upon to know.

After dinner, Lord Ombersley
put in no appearance in the
drawing-room, the claims of
faro being too insistent to be
ignored; and Miss Wraxton very
prettily begged that thc chil-
dren might be permitted to
come downstairs, adding, with
a smile cast upwards at Charles,
that she had not had the felicity
of seeing her little friend Theo-
dore since he had come home
for the Easter holidays.

However, when her little
friend presently appeared he
was carrying Jacko upon his
shoulder, which made her shrink
back in her chair, and utter an
exclamation of protest.

The awful moment of dis-
closure had come, and, thanks
(Lady Ombersley bitterly re-
flected) to Miss Addcrbury's
lamentable lack of control over
her young charges, at quite the
wrong moment. Charles, at first
inclined to be amused, was
speedily brought to his senses
by Miss Wraxton's evident dis-
approval.

He said that however desir-
able a denizen of a schoolroom
a monkey might be-which was
a question to be discussed latrr
-it was no fit creature for his
mother's drawing-room; and
ordered Theodore, in a tone
that invited no argument, to
remove Jacko at once.

A sullen scowl descended on
to Theodore's brow, and for a
horrid instant his mother
feared that she trembled on the
brink of an ugly scene. But
Sophy stepped quickly into thc

breach.

"Yes, take him upstairs, Theo-
dore!" she said. "I should have
warned you that of all things
he most dislikes being brought
into company! And pray make
haste, for I am going to show
you a famous game of cards
which I learned in Vienna!"

She thrust him out of the
room as she spoke, and shut the
door on him. Turning, she
found Charles eyeing her
frostily, and said: "Am I in
disgrace with you for having
brought thc children a pct you
don't approve of? I assure you,
ht is perfectly gentle: you need
not be afraid of him."

"I am not in the least afraid

of him!'' snapped Charles. "Ex-
tremely obliging of you to have
bestowed him upon the chil-

dren!"

"Charles! Charles!" said
Amabel, tugging at his sleeve.
"She has brought us a parrot
too, and it talks capitally! Only
Addy would put her shawl over
its cage, because she said horrid,
rough sailors must have taught
it to speak. Do tell her not to!"

"Oh, I am quite undone!"
Sophy exclaimed, in comical
dismay. "And the man prom-
ised the wretched bird would say
nothing to put anyone to the
blush! Now, what is to be

done ?"

But Charles was laughing. He
said: "You must say your Col-
lect to it every day, Amabel, to
put it in a better frame of mind.
Cousin, my uncle Horace in-
formed us that you were a good
little thing, who would give us
no trouble. You have been with
us for rather less than half a
day: I shudder to think what
havoc you will have wrought
by the end of a week!"

To be êontinued

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