junior officer without much command of
words put it, a sort of " who-the-deuce-are-you"
expression—a bold, smiling
defiance, and an air of superiority. He had,
besides, the true vainqueur air, and well
knowing he was admired by ladies, took
a sort of assured proprietorship, as if they
were mere children, and he were their
master. Not very long before, this captivating
gentleman had been in want of money,
and seeking to repair his fortunes, resolved
to do so by marrying for money; and,
accordingly, he selected a poor, spare,
unhealthy little person, who had plenty of
money, and who fell into worse health
when her manufacturing father refused to
consent to the marriage. It accordingly
took place. The money lasted for a time;
but her real fortune, which was the
expectancy of all that her father had, soon
after was lost in a commercial crash. The
handsome Molyneux never forgave his wife
this injury. Henceforth she was dragged
about from barrack to barrack, as part of
his camp equipment: a neglected wife, that
most piteous spectacle of a poor shred of
a woman striving all day long to sustain
her miserable part, and hide from the
world the open rebuffs, and almost insults,
she is always receiving.

The arrival, then, of this gentleman was
quite an event at Tilston. As that spot
had hitherto enjoyed a sort of pastoral
immunity from any worldly depravity, he
was regarded with a sort of mysterious
alarm and interest. The daughters glanced
slyly at him as their mothers gave a wholesome
warning, and, in truth, declined
to accept so harsh a construction of this
elegant hero. When he was seen " at the
band," lounging magnificently, his poor
thread-paper of a wife following, of whose
presence he seemed unconscious, it was
secretly pronounced that, after all, it must
be her fault, she was such a poor, foolish
sort of creature. Presently it became
known that they had taken the genteel
lodgings next door to the Doctor's, and so
lately vacated by young Cecil Leader—
lodgings heartily recommended by the Doctor
himself.

"A fine handsome fellow that," said
the Doctor, " who's only done what, God
knows, many of us do! made a mistake in
choosing a companion."

His own family were against him in this
view, and were all on the side of the
neglected wife. Who was so vehement as
Polly! How her bright eyes sparkled and
kindled, as she denounced this barbarous
treatment of a poor woman! She became
the warmest friend of the persecuted lady,
and when she was careful to ascertain that
the captain had gone out, ran in, through
the garden, to sit with her, and hear all
her sorrows. A prudent friend or relation
ought to have discouraged this
excessive sympathy; but, alas! Katey had
gone forth in the world, and no one, so
strongly or firmly as Katey, could have
speedily " put order" to such a situation.

The handsome captain, as he was called,
soon discovered Polly: and almost as soon,
her aversion to him, and championship of
his wife. Once or twice Polly surprised him
in the house by her visits, when she was
sure he had gone out. How she coloured,
how her eyes flashed, and how she hesitated
and resolved not to stay, yet was ashamed
to retreat. The handsome captain's voice
had sounded loud and boisterous, as, he
came up-stairs. He surveyed her with a
quiet look of insolent mischief.

"Don't go," he said, " Miss Polly; I am
going. I know you hate me." Polly
coloured more furiously still . "Hate away, "
he said. "No lady ever began hating me
that did not end by liking me."

Polly had such a gay, mischievous temper
that she often sacrificed her dignity to her
sense of a pert repartee: Lifting her eyes
shyly, yet roguishly, she said: " So I can
see!"

He laughed: "Oh, so you can see, if you
take it the other way. But I am right still.
Mrs. Chester Molyneux," he said, bowing
to his unhappy wife, " can attest to the
contrary of what you say."

"Nothing of the kind," said Polly, in-
dignantly; "and it is a great shame—-"

"What, causing people to like me? After
all I am not so bad as I am painted. What
would you say if I ended by making you
like me?"

"Never! never!" said Polly, vehemently,
" so long as I live."

"Well, we shall see," said the handsome
captain, rising to go. " It rests upon
my honour to remove these prejudices. I
don't deserve them. Ask her."

Polly would ask nothing, and only bade
him go away. If he was to stay there for
years, he would never get her to like him.
He retired singing, and she remained to
sympathise with her friend.

The Doctor laughed heartily at this
vendetta, and admired his Polly for her
pluck. He himself thought the captain a
good, pleasant fellow enough, more sinned
against than sinning, and whom, from his