"I do not agree withyou," I returned, rather
warmly; "at any rate, if a ' do,' not a very expensive
one."

"Sixpence is sixpence," said Tulloch, " and
if she had had anything in her purse she would
have taken better care of it."

"Well, I don't begrudge my sixpence. Good
night."

We, that is Kate and I, went the next day
but one after this to hear the band play in Kensington
Gardens. There was the usual crowd;
however, we managed to get a seat, and were
lazily amused watching the motley mass of
colour and variety of countenance, while many
an eye was turned admiringly on my beautiful
companion. Suddenly I exclaimed, " Why,
there's Tulloch, and a very pretty girl with him!"

"Where?" cried Kate, eagerly. I pointed
him out, and, as I looked in her speaking face,
could not help fancying her countenance
changed, and her colour paled.

The lady beside whom Tulloch walked was
above middle height, and plump, not to say fat.
She had a fair round fresh-coloured face, and a
pair of baby blue eyes; a contented smile sat
upon her countenance, and she looked the very
picture of material ease and comfort. She was
richly and becomingly dressed, evidently by a
good artiste, and her whole appearance was
in perfect accordance with the requirements of
conventionality.

Tulloch seemed to pay assiduous court to her,
and the lady seemed well pleased.

"Don't you know who it is?" said Kate.

"No."

"Why, it is Miss Goldfrap, the heiress."

"Is it indeed?"

We watched them take several turns; they
were evidently accompanied by a large and brilliant
party; as they passed us for the third
or fourth time Tulloch's eye caught Kate's; he
looked a little confused, and merely bowed his
recognition.

Kate smiled (a bitter smile).

"Jammie Tulloch is on his good behaviour
to-day," she said; "he must not acknowledge
his country cousins."

I laughed somewhat uneasily, for I felt unspeakably
vexed. Here had this fellow been
indulging in the cordial delight of those friendly
evenings with poor old Mahon and his daughters,
and doing his best to persuade Kate he
was in love with her, and now, at the first glimpse
of a richer prize, he was off. It was too bad!
And Kate— I could not make her out; could
she care for him? It was hard to say. The
most unattractive man at other times acquires a
wonderful interest in the eyes of a woman who
believes he loves her!

"It is time to go home, Harry," said Kate;
"and will you come in and have tea and 'summat'
with it, as our landlady says. Papa will
be home about seven, and you do not mind
roughing it with us?"

"No, certainly not; and I have a book here
for Ellie, which I want to talk to her about.
By the way, how does your education get on
with Timbs?"

"Oh, very well indeed; he is very good to
me in his queer way, and has been ever since I
went to him so boldly— with no introduction beyond
his having been papa's London correspondent
long ago— and asked him to give my father
work. How wonderfully we have got on since
we came here, and what a friend you have been,
dear cousin!" She pressed my arm so tenderly
to her side, looking up into my face. Oh!
what a tender look of gratitude! What pain and
pleasure it gave me! She loved me; but only
as a useful old friend.

As we passed through the less frequented
part of the Gardens, we met Tulloch returning
alone. He greeted Kate with rather forced
cordiality, and said he was coming to look for
her. She received him kindly enough, and we
strolled on together. As we approached the
further gate near Kensington Gore, a lady in
rusty black came in from one of the side-walks,
and went slowly along in front of us. It was
a small unfashionable figure; and yet the gait
and air were refined, and the aspect was that of
a gentlewoman. She walked with short mincing
steps, not English in style.

How like that person before us is to our old
French governess, Madame la Rose; so like!"
exclaimed Kate, "it transports me back to old
times to look at her. It must be ten years
since we parted. Do you remember her, Uncle
Harry? She left when we broke up, and went
abroad with an English family. How kind and
good she used to be."

Here the person in question sat down wearily
on a bench, and as we drew near Kate cried
aloud, " It is Madame la Rose! Dear madame,
don't you remember Kate?" and they were
embracing and half crying the next moment.

Tulloch's brow darkened, and he looked
greatly annoyed. "I tell you, Kate, this would
look very queer if any one we knew came by;
do stop this nonsense," he said, rudely and
peremptorily.

She raised her head indignantly. " Then leave
us, if you are ashamed," she said; "you are not
wanted here!"

Tuiloch turned pale with anger. He thought
his money entitled him to the tenderest consideration,
the most careful observance. He
turned to go. "Don't be offended," I said,
laughing; "you began it; Kate is not in earnest."

"I don't know that; but I warn you,
Longmore, take care of that woman: she is an
impostor. I thought so the night before last;
I am certain of it now."

"We will see," I returned; for I also had
recognised the stranger to be the poor woman
who lost her purse.

Tulloch walked off, and I turned to Kate, who
was now seated by her ex-governess, tenderly
holding her trembling hand and looking into her
face with those wonderful grey eyes— those eyes
like wells of kindliness wherein wearied hearts
might steep themselves and be refreshed.

"Oh! it is the good God who has guided
you to me," the poor Frenchwoman was saying,
"and I was in despair! I had eaten my last
meal, and paid my last week's lodging, for the