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Zelda's Fortune.

CHAPTER II.

TOWN MICE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE.

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HE reason for Lord Lisburn's not finding Lady Penrose at home was that she had gone out that fine afternoon in the carriage in order to make some calls. Her list included a Miss Perrot, who had not taken advantage of the fine weather. Lady Penrose was not, however, as much disappointed as people usually are when they fail to hear those words which combine the virtues of charity and selfdenial, "Not at home."

Down came Miss Perrot, bustling like the brisk young lady that she was -young still, though she had been young long ago But then she was hawk

nosed and sallow-of the style that wears well by candle-light and can bear a little rouge and hair-mixture on occasions without reminding the beholder of the wife of Ahab.

"Ah," she exclaimed, almost as a Frenchwoman says, Mon Dieu! "I have been wondering what had become of you. So you have really come back again? And Sir William? I am dying to see Sir William."

"Sir William is now at St. Bavons-there is some meeting or something."

"Political, of course? Politics are my foible. That's why I adore Sir William. You ought to be jealous of me about Sir William. It sounds so well-like Pitt. But that reminds me I'm so glad you're

Clo!" she called out shrilly from the half-opened door, "Come down. I want you to see Lady Penrose."

"Clo," whoever she might be, answered: and Claudia appeared.

"LIKE THIS, YOU KNOW," AND HE SANG THE PASSAGE HIMSELF.'

"My first cousin once removed, Miss Brandt," said Miss Perrot. "Claudia, this is Lady Penrose. Your father, my dear, knows Sir William well. I have no doubt he votes for him."

No-they were not

Claudia in St. Bavons-Claudia in Belgravia? the same. The lazy, sofa-ridden lame girl, who let Harold Vaughan make love to her over her easel and took it like a queen, while the sweet meadow breath fanned her and the buzz of the truant bee made a bass to the soprano-steeple of St. Catherine, was hardly this stately young lady, no longer Rubenesque, who dressed like a nun, was as pale as St. Agnes, and carried, in the face of a morning caller, three yards of plain sewing over her arm. The two ladies bowed, and Claudia sat down. Miss Perrot flashed a glance over the plain sewing. Lady Penrose, who had been trained to mild electioneering, beamed serenely towards the St. Bavons girl.

"Yes," she said, "I have heard the name. Have you been long in town? You must come and see us as soon as Sir William returns. Are you often in London ?"

"I have never been in London before."

"My cousin has not been well," Miss Perrot explained. "Her father has sent her here for change of scene."

"Indeed! How exciting it must be. Don't you find it so, Miss Brandt?"

"Yes," said Claudia, looking up, but without her old ready brightness and outwardness of look, 66 I suppose so. At any rate it is very noisy."

"Now that's you, all over," broke in Miss Penrose quickly. "You would make Lady Penrose think I led you a life that a whirlwind would be a lethargy to."

"I'm sure Lady Penrose won't think any such thing," said Claudia, smiling a little over her work. "The fact is, we country people get old I think, before our time. I am sure Miss Perrot is very good to put up with the whims and caprices of an old lady like me."

“Old?" asked Lady Penrose, with a placid touch of ladylike astonishment. "Why"

"Stuff," burst in Miss Perrot.

"Claudia's not three-and-twentywhat we used to call babies when I was one of them. I don't know what's come to the children: they're all old now before they're young."

"Perhaps Miss Brandt is delicate?" asked Lady Penrose, with a maternal air suitable to her comfortable figure. "I was delicate once. When I was married to Sir William I was quite a slip, like Jane or Laura.”

"Ah, that's it," exclaimed the elder lady triumphantly. "That's what I'm always saying. I'm always at Claudia asking her why she doesn't do like other girls. I wish you'd speak to her-you've got girls of your own. What should you say if Laura was to want to leave a dance before the after-supper gallop, or Jane was to make things for poor people instead of doing slippers and really useful things?"

"It is very proper to make things for the poor," answered Lady Penrose gravely. "I should do it myself, only it is so much better to buy

them ready made, and cheaper too, in the long run. Sir William thinks that it's against economical politics to mix up labour and capital."

"I don't understand politics," said Claudia. "But it seems to me that the labour of charity is the most charitable part of it. I can never feel that I'm doing good to anybody unless it gives me some trouble. And I like making strong stitches. It's only my way of telling my beads."

"Now that's you again, Claudia. You'd make Lady Penrose think I have a Papist for a cousin-talking of beads and things. Sir William, who's in the House, must understand better than you. And I'm sure fancy work is much more natural for a girl who must think of settling one of these days."

"You think sewing slippers is a young lady's substitute for sowing wild oats?" asked Claudia.

"Well, you may joke about it, but I don't see why marriage should be a forbidden subject of conversation. As for people waiting, as young men and women do now, till each has got a foot in the grave, I've no patience with such new ways. We married for love in my time, and if we didn't marry for love, we married for youth all the same. We shall be hearing of post mortem marriages soon, I suppose."

"The young men should come forward more," said Lady Penrose. "The young women should come forward more," said Miss Perrot. "Cousin!" exclaimed Claudia.

"Of course, I mean in a proper way."

"Such as working slippers and waiting for after-supper gallops?" "I mean by not moping, and waiting for wedding-rings to fall down the chimney."

"But, cousin, isn't that the way they mostly fall?”

"Yes-and the housemaids find them in the cinders. It's they that are always getting married now-the simpletons, as if a bad home were better than a good place."

"And as I don't want to be a simpleton-there, cousin, I daresay Lady Penrose is thinking us a terribly quarrelsome couple."

"How are Laura and Jane?" asked Miss Perrot, suddenly turning the conversation. She was nettled, but could not afford the luxury of carrying a fencing match with a rich relation too far.

Lady Penrose certainly did not think Miss Brandt a particularly sweet-tempered young lady. But she was well disposed to be friendly to a sharp-tongued, piously disposed, and sickly looking country girl who could by no possibility prove a rival to either of her own young cygnets at home.

"Both the girls are well," she said, preparing herself to indulge in her favourite topic, and shaking herself out like a sitting swan. "They will die to make your acquaintance Miss Brandt. They would have come with me to-day only Laura is at her music. She has a real genius for music, and plays all the things out of the operas. She is learning from Signor Fasolla, who teaches at court, you know, and charges a guinea a lesson, so she can't help having a genius. Are you musical, Miss