unfeeling, and, therefore, the unchangeable school; she had a set of looks, speeches, attitudes, and occupations - whatever happened, she continued these; no events swept her along with them. She smiled, canted, chatted, and knitted, come what would; but Zelie was accustomed to her, and she would have dreaded strange eyes, however kind, more than those round, light orbs, which were like blue stones, so cold and soulless; for, to their expression, or, rather, want of expression, she was used.

She was lying listlessly on a sofa, placed near the window, watching the sunset. The house was in the Regent's Park; the prospect was so complete and ornamental, that it was like some remembered and highly-finished scene of a play. The windows of the white and gracefully formed villas were gleaming redly with the reflected sunset. The grass and shrubs were green with the youth of the year, and over the blue, still waters the white swans sailed,

like proud and happy thoughts over a pure, young mind. The sunset was fantastically

rich and varied; it seemed as if a city of the clouds was on fire, or, rather, had been on fire, and was smouldering away; tints of crimson and orange, purple and gold, floated far and far around the piles and masses of ruins, growing paler and paler, till they lost themselves in the clear grey of evening; and opposite all the splendour of this burning city, and its setting monarch, rose the moon, looking wan and dull, and out of place, like an actress by daylight.

Mrs. Chester was sitting close to one window, industriously knitting, and, in her character of chaperon and companion, occasionally offering a counsel, making a remark, or proffering an assertion.

"Well, it's a very fine evening, and I shouldn't wonder if we have a very fine day to-morrow."

Zelie, with "a glorious sympathy with suns

that set," thought not of the morrow, and

made no reply.

66

"I wonder whether any one will call this evening?"

"I expect my brother. It is very long since he was here...."

66

Only a fortnight, or so."

Only !......" and Zelie turned to the window, and repeated to herself—“ only !”

66

Now, my dearest love, you must not have that window open; there, your cough is come back."

66

Oh, let it remain so; I cannot breathe." "You promised your brother not to sit near the open windows."

66

Ah, well, then, close it; but," she added, o herself, "it is in vain, and I might breathe the pure air while I can; I feel it will not be long."

A loud knock startled the pale Zelie, and made even Mrs. Chester's turban bob.

"Oh! it is that odious Lord Gripeall. I

cannot see him, Mrs. Chester. I am not at home to him."

Mrs. Chester seemed not to hear "I am not at home, Mrs. Chester."

"Remember, my love, your brother thinks Lord Gripeall an important friend for you." "No, no, any one but he! I am not at home. I cannot be at home."

66

Nay, but I beg the lovely Zelie will make herself quite at home," said the squeaky voice of Lord Gripeall, who at that moment pushed in his crooked neck and red-veined face. "Now don't disturb yourself, I beg; I wish you to make yourself quite at home."

"It is rather for me to request you to do so, my lord."

"Ah, very good, 'pon my soul! Well, you
And he stood
And he stood upon the rug, with

see I do."

his back to the fire, playing with the swallowtails of his green coat. "How do, Mrs. Chichester."

"I beg your pardon, my lord; Chester is my name."

"Ah! very good, Jester! so let it be, a very good name, too, I take it! Jester, he! he he! Court jester to the Queen of Song, eh? ha! ha! ha!" and his lordship laughed at his own

wit.

Mrs. Chester laughed too, for she did not think a lord could be dull. In her opinion, a lord's joke must be a good joke.

Lord Gripeall, since last we saw him, is grown a little more grim; his eyes are somewhat of a more filmy blue, and his face of a browner red. His cheap, ill-made false teeth are grown very yellow; but he has resolved to keep his lip down, and make them do; this effort adds to the ugliness and baboonishness of his face.

"And where's brother?" he said.

"The Count is not yet returned."

"Well, we can manage to do without him, I dare say, eh?" and, extending a paralytic hand, his fingers covered with cheap rings, in which were set large and gaudy stones, he