professional pickpocket who objected to
seeing a constable at every street corner!"

Sir John Gale's studied good breeding
partook less of the nature of polish—which
beautifies and displays the natural grain of
the wood—than of veneer. The veneer,
though not unskilfully applied, occasionally
cracked, revealing glimpses of a rather
coarse and ugly material beneath it. He
had especially an egotistical proneness to
attribute chance allusions to himself.

"Really!" he exclaimed. "I am to
conclude that you suppose that I dislike
Mrs. Grundy because I fear her? She is
the policeman at the street corner, and
your humble servant is the professional
pickpocket?"

Maud looked painfully shocked. The
colour receded from her face, and then
flushed back brighter than ever as she said,
"Oh, Sir John! How could you
suppose—? I—I beg your pardon. I had
no intention or idea of any such meaning."

But Sir John had already begun a
discussion with the vicar as to the comparative
merits of Tuscan and Neapolitan wines,
and seemed to have dismissed Maud's
unlucky speech from his mind.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly,
until the early hour at which it was deemed
well for the invalid to retire.

The vicar was delighted with his guest.
Mr. Levincourt declared that he felt like
some shipwrecked mariner who had passed
years in a savage island, and to whose
door the winds and the waves had drifted
a stranger from the distant lands of
civilisation.

"It would be more civil, papa, if you
had said that we were three shipwrecked
mariners. A kind of Swiss Family Robinson,"
observed Veronica, laughing.

The exaggeration of all this grated on
Maud's common sense. But she repressed
the protest which trembled on her lips.

"Maudie looks sagely disapproving,"
said Veronica, glancing at her.

"I am disapproving myself," replied
Maud. " How pert and flippant Sir John
must have thought me! My impulsive
speeches are always getting me into
trouble."

"O! I do not believe that Sir John will
give the matter another thought. But if
it weighs on your conscience you can
explain, the next time you see him, that—"

"Ah, no: there are some things that
cannot be explained—to Sir John Gale."

"Why not to him? He is not stupid."

"No, he is not stupid, but— He is
like some richly embroidered stuff I once
saw: very gorgeous and magnificent at a
distance, but a little coarse in the grain,
and not to be touched with impunity by a
sensitive skin."

"H'm! You little shy, proud, English
owl!" exclaimed Veronica.

And then for a full half hour she
remained staring silently into the fire, until
her satin cheeks were quite scorched and
crimson.

The next day was the nineteenth, and
the two girls were in a state of agreeable
excitement at the prospect of the dinner
party which awaited them.

The kitchen was pervaded by a smell of
ironing. Joanna was smoothing out dainty
little tuckers, and a long white muslin skirt
over which Veronica's gold-coloured sash
was presently to stream gracefully. Early
in the afternoon, a wooden box arrived by
a special messenger from Danecester, and
was found to contain two bouquets
carefully wrapped in cotton wool.

Sir John Gale—who had not yet left his
room at that early hour—sent Paul into
the vicar's study with a little note, in which
Sir John begged that the young ladies
would do him the honour to wear a few
flowers that he had taken the liberty of
procuring for them.

"A few flowers!" cried Veronica, with
sparkling eyes. "They are exquisite.
They come from Covent Garden. There's
the man's name in the box. Look at these
white moss-roses, and the Cape jasmine!
Your bouquet is mixed, Maudie; mine is
all white. How perfect! Do look pleased,
little icicle!"

"I am pleased," said Maud, with a
certain constraint. "And very, very, much
obliged."

Veronica carried the superb exotics into
the kitchen, and exhibited them with transport
to the servants. The young lady had
a genuine passion for applause and admiration.
She could not be entirely happy without
an audience to witness her happiness.
It had been the same from her baby days.
When, as quite little girls, they had owned
a shaggy pony which was supposed to be
the joint property of the two children,
Maud had heartily enjoyed trotting out
into the wildest bits of country she could
find; but Veronica's delight had been to find
an excuse for riding through the village,
or even, if that might be, into Shipley
Magna. And her chubby cheeks would
glow, and her eyes would brighten, when
she heard passers-by exclaiming that that