times passed at her papa's place in the
country. Augusta asked her serious opinion
as to the spread of High Church doctrine
among the aristocracy, and was it true that
a certain illustrious person was going over
to Rome? Altogether she was a general
favourite with the whole family.

One frequent topic of her conversations
with Mrs. Lovegrove was the lamentable
state of affairs in the household at
Bayswater, as she designated Mr. Frost's
residence. Things were going on there from
bad to worse; that is, between husband and
wife, she meant. Georgina was an old friend
of hers, but she must say Georgina was to
blame. She was so indifferent to Mr.
Frost's comfort; so neglectful of his home;
so careless to please him; and so indifferent
about displeasing him. She on her side
complained of her husband's meanness and
parsimony. He grudged her this, and
declined to give her that. Which, said Miss
Boyce, was certainly odd in a man who
had always been so lavishly indulgent a
husband.

"Perhaps he has at last been able to see
what a fool that woman has been making
of herself by her extravagance, and is
beginning to turn over a new leaf. Let us
hope so! Let us, at least, try to hope so!"
said Mrs. Lovegrove, with all the fervour
of charity.

"Georgina tells me," said Miss Boyce,
"that there is at times something so
strange about her husband, that he seems
scarcely in his right mind. Something is
preying on him, I fancy. It isn't business
troubles, I suppose, eh?" It was
fortunate for her acquaintances that Betsy
Boyce was good-natured; for she was rarely
discreet, and not a little curious.

"What business troubles Mr. Frost may
have on his private account, I am unable
to say," replied Mrs. Lovegrove. "But as
to Frost and Lovegrove, there is no cause
for anxiety about them; of that you may
be quite assured!"

"Ah, then I dare say it is mostly, if not
entirely, Georgina's fault. He is desperately
fond of her, and she is as hard and
cold to him as a block of ice."

"I consider Mr. Frost's infatuated weakness
for his wife to be positively culpable!
But what, alas! can one expect from a
man totally devoid of religious principles?"

In order to avert the stream of Mrs.
Lovegrove's indignation from Sidney Frost
—for whom the kindly old maid had a real
liking—Miss Boyce changed the subject of
discourse.

"Ah dear me!" she exclaimed, fanning
herself, "it is a queer world! Talk of
books! I know much stranger stories than
ever I saw in a book yet. There's that
Princess de' Barletti, for instance. What
a career hers has been!"

"Oh do tell me, Miss Boyce, is she
received in the highest society? I trust not,
for the credit of our aristocracy."

"H'm! Well I don't know that one more
or less would much affect the credit of our
aristocracy!"

"Eh?"

"However that's neither here nor there.
I believe the fact is she is not much received.
She might have been taken up at one time
by a certain set. But she is devoured by
ambition. She wanted to be as great a
lady as the greatest, and to play princess;
and that wouldn't do."

"Ambition indeed! pretty ambition!"

"Yes; pretty ambition. But yet—it
seems a strange thing to say, but I am not
sure there is not a grain of perverted good
in it."

"Good? How do you mean?"

"Well, I—I think a woman who would
have been downright, frankly bad and
unscrupulous might have had a better
chance."

"My dear Miss Boyce!"

"Yes; I know it sounds very horrible.
But what I mean is this; this young
woman can't be contented with the society
of flashy folks of doubtful reputation.
She might have got that, having money
and beauty, and a certain notoriety. But,
you may call it pride, or ambition, or
whatever you like, the fact remains that
she knows there is something higher and
better than that sort of thing, and that
she aspires to it. She can't be at peace
without the good opinion of persons she
can respect, and—she will never get it."

"I should think not!"

"She will never get it, because she has
not strength to make any real sacrifice of
her vanity and selfishness. And yet, I
believe she is eating her heart out with misery
and mortification in the midst of all that
she paid such a terrible price to gain!"

Mrs. Lovegrove stared at the speaker in
surprise. She had never seen such a grave
expression on Betsy Boyce's round, rubicund
visage. The brisk, lively, old lady
had gradually fallen into a serious tone as
she spoke, and when she ceased, there was
something like a tear in her eye.

Sarah Lovegrove's heart, although it
did not beat with remarkable warmth,