nestled close to the tall gentleman, and looked
up in his face lovingly.

"Are you happy, dear?" he said, smoothing
her curls again.

"I should be, if I was going back to school;
but the lady says that I am to be taken away
from Mrs. Bunnycastle's and sent to another
school. Perhaps they will be unkind to me
there. Oh! I do wish I was going back to Miss
Babby."

Sir William muttered something. Lily could
not gather its entire purport, but she thought
she heard him say that he was a fool, and that it
was no concern of his. And then he turned
towards her, and asked her in a strange voice if
she liked him.

"Of course I do," the child answered, readily.
"Lily always loves the people who have been
kind to her. I should like to be your little
wife, and make you a pair of nice red muffatees
for the winter. I should like to go to the waxwork
show every day— but not into that dreadful
room where the naughty men are— and I
should like you to be very good, and take me to
church every Sunday, and always give sixpence
to the poor old blind man with one leg, who
now stands at the corner by our school. Miss
Babby says he was at the battle of Waterloo,
and was very brave there, only they won't give
him a pension because he is fond of rum, and
beats his wife."

This rambling prattle was interrupted by the
countess, who came abruptly into the balcony,
and demanded whether Sir William Long intended
to elope with the little one, and what he
meant by keeping her out there in the chilly
night air?

"The chilly night air is better," the baronet —
for such was his title— replied, " than that noisy
oven inside. However, your little girl has made
me quite meek and obedient, and we will go in
if you wish it. How long do you intend to remain,
countess?"

"Are you tired of my company? It is true
that you have not condescended to bestow much
of it upon me to-night. Are you fascinated with
la petite?"

"A very harmless fascination, I humbly think.
I wish I had known no worse."

"Ah! vous en avez fait des belles! Upon
my word, you have been a most gallant cavalier —
to a baby."

"I have done my duty by the baby, and my
best to preserve her from bogies and vampires."

"You are an excellent nurse."

"I have tried to prevent her wanting any pills
or powders to-morrow."

"You will want brandy and soda-water tomorrow,
as you always do. There, let her
go with the chambermaid, and get ready to
go home. We return to town to-night, and we
have a long journey to make to-morrow."

"What are you going to do with her, countess?"
asked Sir William Long, when the chambermaid,
notwithstanding an unanimous protest
against the lady's threatened departure, had
been rung for, and conducted the child to her
robing-room.

"C'est mon affaire. She belongs to me. Do
I ask you where you spend your evenings, or
what you do with the things that belong to
you?"

"Heaven knows, I should be able to give you
but sorry answers, if you did. I am sick of my
life."

"Why don't you marry?"

"You have tried it. How did vou like it?"

The countess shrugged her shoulders. " It is
different," she said. " I am not a man; I only
wish I were one. Mon mari était un lâche — un
misérable."

"Countess."

"Well, Sir William."

"I think there are few things you would
hesitate about selling."

"Well, I am not particular. I like money;
it buys so many things, and enables one to
mock one's self of the world. Well, what
then?"

"I wish you would consent to sell me your
little girl." .

"To put her in a cabinet among the china
and the pictures that you give such mad prices
for? Thank you."

"I will give you a cheque for a thousand
pounds and my bay mare, Sontag."

"What would you do with her?"

"By Heaven's help, I would endeavour to save
her from perdition."

"Whither I, her guardian and protectress,
am leading her. I am very much obliged to
you, Sir William Long, but you are not rich
enough to buy her. Nor yet is M. de Rothschild.
I bought her, voyez-vous, or I stole her,
whichever you please. She represents to me
success, triumph, vengeance. By having her to
do what I like with, I win a bet ten times
greater than all you ever had in one of those
little books English gentlemen ruin themselves
over— a bet I made to myself seven years ago.
I have won it, and I have the honour to wish
you a very good evening."

She went into the dining-room, Sir William
following her sadly. She contemptuously resisted
all entreaties to stay, to take coffee,
to try one little cigarette. She bade her
"charming Good-for-nothings " a scornful farewell,
and bestowed on them, at parting, a
blessing that sounded curiously like a curse.
Then she went and robed herself, and flinging
the chambermaid a crown piece which that
buxom servitor felt much inclined to fling back
again, she led the child, who was beginning to
feel sleepy, although it was scarcely yet dark,
down stairs.

The affable landlord once more butted at her
with his bald head, when Sir William Long,
who had quietly followed, made his appearance.

"I must bid my little pet good night," he
said, taking both the child's hands in his. " May
I kiss her, countess?"

"Yes; but don't slip a sovereign into her