imbecile foot of Mrs. Wragge searching blindly in
the neighbourhood of her chair for a lost shoe;
she noticed that there was a second door in the
room besides the door by which she had entered,
and a second chair within easy reach, on which she
might do well to seat herself in a friendly and
confidential way. "Pray don't resent my
intrusion," pleaded Mrs. Lecount, taking the
chair. " Pray allow me to explain myself!"

Speaking in her softest voice; surveying Mrs.
Wragge with a sweet smile on her insinuating
lips, and a melting interest in her handsome black
eyes, the housekeeper told her little introductory
series of falsehoods, with an artless truthfulness
of manner which the Father of Lies himself
might have envied. She had heard from Mr.
Bygrave that Mrs. Bygrave was a great invalid;
she had constantly reproached herself, in her idle
half-hours at Sea View (where she filled the situation
of Mr. Noel Vanstone's housekeeper), for
not having offered her friendly services to Mrs,
Bygrave; she had been directed by her master
(doubtless well known to Mrs. Bygrave, as one
of her husband's friends, and, naturally, one
of her charming niece's admirers) to join him
that day at the residence to which he had removed
from Aldborough; she was obliged to leave early,
but she could not reconcile it to her conscience
to go without calling to apologise for her
apparent want of neighbourly consideration; she
had found nobody in the house, she had not been
able to make the servant hear, she had presumed
(not discovering that apartment down stairs) that
Mrs. Bygrave's boudoir might be on the upper
story; she had thoughtlessly committed an
intrusion of which she was sincerely ashamed, and
she could now only trust to Mrs. Bygrave's
indulgence to excuse and forgive her.

A less elaborate apology might have served
Mrs. Lecount's purpose. As soon as Mrs.
Wragge's struggling perceptions had grasped the
fact that her unexpected visitor was a neighbour,
well known to her by repute, her whole being
became absorbed in admiration of Mrs. Lecount's
lady-like manners, and Mrs. Lecount's perfectly-
fitting gown! " What a noble way she has of
talking!" thought poor Mrs. Wragge, as the
housekeeper reached her closing sentence. "And,
oh my heart alive, how nicely she's dressed!"

"I see I disturb you," pursued Mrs. Lecount,
artfully availing herself of the Oriental Cashmere
Robe, as a means ready at hand of reaching the
end she had in view—" I see I disturb you, ma'am,
over an occupation which, I know by experience,
requires the closest attention. Dear, dear me,
you are unpicking the dress again, I see, after it
has been made! This is my own experience
again, Mrs. Bygrave. Some dresses are so
obstinate! Some dresses seem to say to one, in
so many words, ' No! you may do what you like
with me; I won't fit!'"

Mrs. Wragge was greatly struck by this happy
remark. She burst out laughing, and clapped
her great hands in the highest excitement.

"That's what this gown has been saying to me,
ever since I first put the scissors into it," she
exclaimed, cheerfully. " I know I've got an
awful big back—but that's no reason. Why
should a gown be weeks on hand, and then not
meet behind you after all? It hangs over my
Boasom like a sack—it does. Look here, ma'am,
at the skirt. It won't come right. It draggles
in front, and cocks up behind. It shows my
heels—and, Lord knows, I get into scrapes
enough about my heels, without showing them,
into the bargain!"

"May I ask a favour?" inquired Mrs. Lecount,
confidentially. " May I try, Mrs. Bygrave, if I
can make my experience of any use to you? I
think our bosoms, ma'am, are our great difficulty.
Now, this bosom of yours?—Shall I say in plain
words what I think? This bosom of yours is
an Enormous Mistake!"

"Don't say that!" cried Mrs. Wragge,
imploringly. "Don't, please, there's a good soul!
It's a deal bigger, I know; but its modelled, for
all that, from one of Magdalen's own."

She was far too deeply interested on the
subject of the dress to notice that she had forgotten
herself already, and that she had referred to
Magdalen by her own name. Mrs. Lecount's
sharp ears detected the mistake the instant it
was committed. "So! so!" she thought. "One
discovery already. If I had ever doubted my
own suspicions, here is an estimable lady who
would now have set me right.—I beg your
pardon," she proceeded, aloud, " did you say this
was modelled from one of your niece's dresses?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Wragge. " It's as like as
two peas."

"Then," replied Mrs. Lecount, adroitly,
"there must be some serious mistake in the
making of your niece's dress. Can you show it
to me?"

"Bless your heart—yes!" cried Mrs. Wragge.
"Step this way, ma'am; and bring the gown
along with you, please. It keeps sliding off, out
of pure aggravation, if you lay it out on the
table. There's lots of room on the bed in here."

She opened the door of communication, and
led the way eagerly into Magdalen's room. As
Mrs. Lecount followed, she stole a look at her
watch. Never before had time flown as it flew
that morning! In twenty minutes more, Mr.
Bygrave would be back from his bath.

"There!" said Mrs. Wragge, throwing open
the wardrobe, and taking a dress down from one
of the pegs. " Look there! There's plaits on
her Boasom, and plaits on mine. Six of one, and
half a dozen of the other; and mine are the
biggest—that's all!"

Mrs. Lecount shook her head gravely, and
entered forthwith into subtleties of disquisition
on the art of dressmaking, which had the
desired effect of utterly bewildering the
proprietor of the Oriental Cashmere Robe, in less
than three minutes.

"Don't!" cried Mrs. Wragge, imploringly.
"Don't go on like that! I'm miles behind you;
and my head's Buzzing already. Tell us, like a