he raised hat and a bow of the head from a position of military erectness, followed by the remark: 'I trust you are well, sir': to which the reply: 'I am very well, sir, and trus

reproving eye. The inquiry after the state of Mrs. Warwick's health having received its tolerably comforting answer from the footman,

on Mr. Sullivan Smith wheeled about to Mr. Arthur Rhodes and observed to him: 'Sir, I might claim, by right

ermit me to defer to your many su

rather in the bestowi

k pure Castilian, I require no lesson from a Grande

aid Mr. Sullivan Smith; 'and I entreat you-to ascribe my acceptance of you

rs on the panting

ewise bowing, deferent

id the Irish gentleman

n joint participators i

ck's

the pleasure of an acquaintance which is graven on my memory

found in ceremonious humour, in Saxonland, and saying: 'I shall

the Sullivan Smith of the rosy beaming features and princely heartiness. He was accosted: 'Now, my dear boy, it's your turn to try if you

his curiosity by hearing how it had fared with one whom he had to suppose the second applicant, he kept ejaculating: 'Not a bit! The fellow can't be Saxon! And she had a liking for him. She's nigh coming of the age when a woman takes to the chicks. Better he than another, if it's to be any one. For he's got fun in him; he carries his own condiments, instead of borrowing from the popular castors, as is their way over here. But I might have known there 's always sure to be salt and savour in the man she covers with her wing. Excepting, if you please, my dear lady, a bad shot you made

resemblance in the simile. He would certainly have proceeded to improvize impassioned verse, i

you to wait,'

y, for convenience,' r

and wha

I do. Thank heaven,

that

what

jealously

rnemusing in your company,' he said. 'But seriously, there was only one thing to pardon your hurrying to t

enza,' sa

champion desirous of hostilities, to vindicate the lad

button a waistcoat here, in the hope of meeting a heart, and you're lucky in escaping a pulmonary attack of no common severity, while the dog that infected you scampers off, to celebrate his honeymoon mayhap. Ah,

n had put Arthur Rhodes on the tra

n be at Copsley-Lady Dunstane's house,

ear of lamentation has opened a practicable path or water-way to the poor nightcapped jewel within. So, and you're a candid admi

lk of her,' said Arthur. 'Ther

e her father's Irish name:-none of your Warwicks and your . . . But let the cur go barking. He can't tell what he's lost; perhaps he doesn't care. And after inflicting his hydrophobia on her tender fame! Pooh, sir; you call it a

rwick than to any soul

ragic and comic; and the Book of Celtic History; and Erin incarnate-down with a cold, no matter where; but we know where it wa

r his companio

, and could say only: 'It would be

t what of

mine could d

the brain of Socrates-or better, say Minerva, on the bust of Venus, and the remainder of

se head and i

cha

s prepared to maintain

ndon, what the run of wa

the visibly divine,' he

m your echo, my friend. Isn't the seeing and listening to her li

ns are yours,' Art

of Bacchus, so if you will do me the extreme honour to dine with me at my Club this evening,

ed, and the hour, and some items of the littl

m to loosen his tongue under the repressing presence of the man he knew to be his censor, though Sullivan Smith encouraged him with praises and opportunities. He thought of the many occasions when Mrs. Warwick's art of management had produced

said the latter, clapping hand on his shoulder, by

odes the way he was goin

the old bullying fashion; and changed it abruptly. 'I am glad to have met you this eve

has been working too

unwell, d

her house, and spea

've not

t y

good-

mention of Mrs. Warwick's 'working too hard,' as the cause of her illne

seat at his table. He owned himself incomplete. He never could do the thing he meant, in the small matters not leading to fortune. But they led to happiness! Redworth was guilty of a sigh: for now Diana Warwick stood free; doubly free, he was reduced to reflect in a wavering dubiousness. Her more than inclination for Dacier, witnessed by him, and the shot of the world, flying randomly on the subject, had struck this cuirassier, maki

rth believed in the soul of Diana. For him it burned, and it was a celestial radiance about her, unquenched by her shifting fortunes, her wilfulnesses and, it might be, errors. She was a woman and weak; that is, not trained for strength. She was a soul; therefore perpetually pointing to growth in purification. He felt it, and even discerned it of her, if he could not have phrased it. The something sovereignty characteristic that aspired in Diana enchained him. With her, or rather with his thought of her soul, he understood the right union of women and men, from the roots to the flowering heights of that rare graft. She gave

arisees, as ladies offering us an excellent social concrete where quicksands abound, and without quite justifying the Lady Wathins and Constance Aspers of the world, whose virtues he could set down to accident or to acid blood, he co

the horizon sail and the aft-floating castaway. Her passion for Dacier might have burnt out her heart. And at present he had no claim to visit her, dared not intrude.

's holy, Diana Warwick hasn't a spot, not a spot, to reproach herself with. I fancy I ought to know women by this time. And look here, Redworth, last night -that is, I mean yesterday evening, I broke with a woman-a lady of my acquaintance, you know, because she would go on scandal-mongering about Diana Warwick. I broke with her. I

as described in the

t allows a woman of Mrs. Fryar-Gunnett's like to hang on to it, and to cast a stone at

dock, on her friend's affairs. He took a seat beside her. 'No, Tony is not well,' she replied to his question, under the veil of candour. '

man of business,'

nd services. This is m

s reco

next week. You can come down

want her opinion upon

you will have to descri

t. 'My poor Tony has been struck down low. I suppose it is like losing a

for having strengt

: 'One has to experience the irony of Fate to comprehend how cruel it is

her. 'I thought you were

be put in a dialect practically explicable

they? nine times out of ten, plain want of patience, or some debt for indulgence. There's a subject:-let some one write, Fables in illustration of the irony of Fate: and I'll undertake to tack-on my grandmother's maxims for a moral to teach of 'em. We prate of that irony when we slink aw

r intruding Mr.

ation of the phrase might be brought home to him so as to render 'my Grandmother's moral' a conclusion less comfortingly, if quite intelligibly, summary. And then she thought of Tony's piteous instance; an

beloved, the real quality of the man had overcome her opposing state of sentiment, and she spoke of him with an iteratio