into a world of difficulties, and were all more or
less miserable. But they were French people;
whereas a good honest Briton likes the truth,
and WILL speak it whether he's miserable or
not."

Mr. Blorage spoke the last sentence aloud,
with great emphasis on the auxiliary verb;
moreover, giving force to his words by an
energetic thump on the arm of his chair.

"My dear sir, take care!" said a voice in his
ear. The sound was like the tinkle of a little
silver bell, clear as a note of music.

Looking towards the sound, the good Dick
perceived, perched on the arm of the chair, a
little lady: who steadied herself, after his hard
thump on the cushion, by holding valiantly on
to an elaborately crocheted anti-macassar.

"I—I beg your pardon," stammered Mr.
Blorage.

"Granted," said the lady. "Now, open your
hand, and hold it steady."

Always ready to oblige, Mr. Blorage did as he
was asked, and was wonderfully surprised that
he was not surprised when she took a flying leap
into the middle of his palm.

"Thank you, Dick," said she, arranging her
little crinoline, and putting on an air. "So you
want your house to be gifted with the power of
making people speak the truth, eh?"

"I should like it," he answered, in some
confusion.

The little lady shook her head.

"You won't like it. You will find it very
annoying. Neither your servants, nor your
friends, nor your relations, will seem the better
for it, Dick."

"I should like to try it for a little while—
just for one day," he stammered, in answer to the
wise forebodings of the little lady.

"I understand. Merely to enable you to
select a wife? You fear to be made a fool of
again, Dick."

"Yes, yes," he answered, eagerly. "Marriage
is such an awful thing. One does not mind
being made a fool of for a short time—but for
life!" Dick shuddered, and the little lady was
nearly upset by the shock.

In the endeavour to save herself from falling,
she unfolded a pair of beautiful wings, whose
transparent lustre of prismatic colours, formed
a sort of Glory round her head.

"How pretty you are," said Dick.

"I only show my beauty to those who
appreciate me. My name is Verita."

"God bless the name," said Dick. "I don't
care about the enchantment of my house, if you
will always be at hand to advise me."

"I mean to live with you, Dick; but as for
advice, why did God give you an intelligence to
guide you through every difficulty? Why ask
a little odd spirit for advice, when you have but
to knock at the door of your conscience for
unerring guidance?"

"True," murmured Dick; "but still——"

"I see you hold to your own way, Dick, and
as I wish you to have a good wife, I will grant
your request. But inasmuch as enchanting the
whole house would be extremely inconvenient to
you in more ways than one, I will confine the
spell to this chair. But there are conditions to
be observed—two conditions—before I enchant
the chair."

"Name them."

"The first is, that no one but yourself is to
be apprised of the power the chair possesses."

"Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Blorage, dubiously,
"would that be quite fair?"

"Simpleton! Who could you get to sit in
your chair if its power were known, Dick?"

"Wouldn't people like it? I shouldn't mind."

"I dare say you would not. But assent to
the condition, or the chair is not enchanted."

"I consent. You said, dear madam, there
was another condition?"

"The second condition is, that whoever enters
within your doors must sit in the chair, and must
answer three questions before leaving the chair."

"But suppose people will do neither the one
nor the other?"

"Compliance with the first condition I will
take upon myself to ensure; the second depends
on you, as it is you who must put the three
questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"Pooh, pooh, Dick, don't give me more than
my share of work. If you don't know the sort
of questions to put, in order to obtain the good
for which you have required me to enchant the
chair, you are undeserving of the favour."

Dick would have protested, but he was so
fearful of disturbing the equilibrium of the
delicate little creature by over-earnest utterance,
that he only opened and shut his mouth.

"Don't blow me away! I must be gone,
though. The night is rather chilly, I think."
She took out of an almost invisible pocket, a
shadowing sort of cobwebby thing, meant, he
presumed, for her handkerchief. Gracefully
throwing it over her head, and tying it under her
little atom of a chin, she continued: "Good
night, Dick. And good fortune to this house!
And may it soon possess the only charm it
wants—a pretty wife for you, and a good
mistress for itself!"

Before Mr. Blorage had time to answer, the
palm of his hand was empty, and the fair little
creature had disappeared.

III.

Mr. Richard Blorage was never quite clear
during how long a time after the spirit's
disappearance, he sat thinking or dozing. But
the dining-room door having opened and shut
several times during this period of intense
thought or doze, he at length became conscious
that it was not likely to have opened and shut
of its own accord, and that it had probably done
so under the hand of Penge, his butler, his new
butler, the most respectful and obsequious of
butlers, who had come into his service with a
character so very unexceptionable, that he had
almost felt inclined to thank the spotless Penge
for being so good as to take him for a master.

Mr. Blorage rose hastily and rang the bell.