She seemed of late to have taken a wonderful
fancy for her cousin, taking every opportunity
of showing her predilections too, and remaining
quite unshaken by the numerous rebuffs and
snubs with which, as we have seen, Gilbert was
in the habit of receiving her remarks. For he
really disliked the lady with a forty-cousin
power, and probably her presence was almost
more distressing to him than even to Gabrielle
herself.

It may have been that this sudden regard that
Miss Carrington began to manifest for her cousin
was, to some extent, assumed and put on, in
order to give annoyance, if possible, to Mrs. Penmore.
Miss Carrington was, as has been said,
good looking, and she was aware of it. She hated
Gabrielle — though why, it would be difficult to
say — and if it had been possible to inflict a pang
in that direction, she would undoubtedly have
been only too glad.

One day she produced a photograph of herself
for which she had been sitting. It was a good
likeness, but what the artist who took it had
gone through, who shall describe? Of course
the man knew something of what he was about,
and, in arranging her attitude, had to consider
the defects inherent in the instrument, and to
bear in mind that any part of the sitter which
came nearer to his lens than another, must needs
be exaggerated to twice its real size in the
picture. This is why we all have to submit to
be pinioned into all sorts of ungraceful positions
when we sit for such likenesses. This is why
we are fain to be so very unassuming in the pose
of our legs, and to keep our elbows well back,
lest our hands should assume gigantic proportions,
and ruin the natural refinement of our aspect.
But Miss Carrington was not to be
easily drilled into submission. She had views of
her own on the subject of attitude. She had a
fine hand; and determined to give prominence
to this elegant extremity, she insisted on so
placing it, that it came out in the photograph
about the size of the wooden hand which dangles
still over the fronts of some of our metropolitan
glovers' shops. The photograph had of
course to be cancelled, and so had another, in
which the lady appeared with a pantomimic head,
not to speak of another with a gigantic nose,
and yet another, where the skirts of the dress
claimed a monopoly of space, so that the head
and body of Miss Carrington was only seen in
the distance, and bore no proportion at all to
her lower extremities. In short, it was a photograph
of the lady's feet, and very large feet they
seemed, too, which, to do her justice, was not
the case in reality. At last, Miss Carrington was
obliged to submit to professional knowledge,
and the result was a very striking likeness of
the lady in a somewhat constrained and unnatural
attitude.

"There, Gilbert," said Miss Carrington, in a
sentimental tone, and handing him one of the
portraits. " There is something which I hope
you will keep for old acquaintance' sake." She
was always trying to hint that there had been
some tender passages between them in former
times, for which there was not the slightest
foundation in fact, as indeed they had not
met half a dozen times till now. Mrs. Penmore
gave a little start as those words were
spoken, but on Gilbert himself they were entirely
lost.

"Ah, oh yes," he said. " Dear me, what a
good likeness; who did it?"

Miss Carrington replied that it was the work
of a dreadful wretch named Grouper, in the
Tottenham-court-road.

"Well, at any rate it's a very good likeness,
isn't it, Gabrielle?" and he handed the work of
art across to her, adding, in entire good faith,
"and you'd better take care of it, as I should be
sure to lose it."

Mrs. Penmore was just beginning to corroborate
her husband's opinion, when Miss Carrington
suddenly started up from her place, and
exclaiming, " Well, I think you might have pretended
to care about it, at any rate," went away
to her room.

She was closely followed by Jane Cantanker,
who, however, turned a destructive glance in
the direction of poor Gabrielle as she passed
through the door.

"Is she mad?" inquired Gilbert of his wife,
when both the ladies had disappeared.

"You never cared for her?" asked Gabrielle.

Her husband burst into a roar of laughter.
"I should think not," he said. " Nor she for
me; why, I've only seen her two or three times
in my life."

"It's very extraordinary," said Gabrielle.
"She's been so odd lately, sometimes violent and
excited almost, and sometimes quite heavy and
stupid, and refusing to come down stairs or let
any one see her but her maid. I hope she is not
going to be ill. She certainly gets more capricious
every day."

CHAPTER VIII. CORNELIUS VAMPI AT HOME.

THERE were retained in the service of Mr.
Cornelius Vampi, besides the youth who assisted
in the herb shop, an old man and his wife.
These looked after the house, did what was necessary
in the way of cooking, and made the
beds, functions which were performed by either
one of them indifferently — as the case might be.
Old Smaggsdale, or, as his master called him,
"Smagg," could make a bed or cook a dinner
at a pinch as well as his wife, and would sometimes
have to turn his hand to such matters
when his better-half was engaged in cleaning
the house down from top to bottom, which she
invariably did whenever she felt disposed to be
low in her spirits. There was, however, one
function which old Smagg had entirely to himself,
and with which his good lady was in no wise
disposed to interfere. The observatory up-stairs
was entirely under the charge of the husband,
and he it was to whom the privilege of assisting
the great philosopher in his experiments was
alone accorded.

The fact is, that Mrs. Smaggsdale, who, as
her way of curing low spirits amply testifies,
was a person of practical mind entirely disbelieved