several times turned to look complacently on
the innocent simplicity of his own neighbour.
They were left alone, and Mrs. Goldridge began
to talk volubly.

"I have been so amused by a little drama
over there, Mr. Pringleson"—indicating an
opposite box so far from the stage that he had
not before noticed its occupants. "That's
Miss Royle and her mamma. A great beauty,
you know, and a wonderful rider. Don't you
know them?"

"No."

"Dear me! Everybody knows them—knows
her, at all events. A dreadful flirt! They are
very rich. Mr. Royle is the great banker, you
know, and she is an only daughter. There is
a young man named Shepherd—in a government
office, I think—who is tremendously
devoted, and the popular idea is, that if she cares
for any one she cares for him. He is not in
the box now; he went out just as you came in
here, and I have been amused to observe how
cross he has made her by staring at a very
pretty girl in the stalls—with a rose in her
hair—next to a vacant seat—do you see? third
row?"

Mrs. Goldridge took great pains to point out
Laura to Mr. Pringleson.

"Ah, yes!" said he, "she is next her mother,
and they are with me. That vacant seat is
mine."

Mrs. Goldridge looked a little confused at her
mistake, but hurried on.

"Well, she is a very lovely girl, and more
than one person has been looking at her, I
assure you."

Mr. Pringleson's spirits were not raised by
this announcement, and he soon afterwards left
her.

Laura had quite forgotten that she had been
offended, and greeted him with an inquiring
smile.

"What lovely lady is that up there?"

"A bride," he answered. "A certain Mrs.
Goldridge."

"A bride!" repeated both his companions in
a breath; and the young lady appeared to gain
great additional interest in their eyes, until the
rising of the curtain again held them enchained.

"By-the-by!" exclaimed Laura, as they were
taking tea on their return, "we never saw Mr.
Goldridge. What is he like?"

"Mr. Goldridge, Q.C., is rather short, very
fat, has grey hair and whiskers, wears
spectacles, was a widower, and is sixty," responded
Edward.

"You are laughing, Bluebeard," said Laura,
addressing him by a name she had bestowed on
him in her infancy.

"No, indeed! It's perfectly true, Why
shouldn't it be?'"

"A young girl marry a horrible old man!"
said Laura.

"I did not say he was horrible, that I
remember."

"But fat and sixty!" said she, with a shudder;
"besides, he must be horrible to have married
her."

"Perhaps she married him?" suggested Mr.
Pringleson.

"Then she is horrible. She cannot like him.
And then for him to marry again!"

"I don't see why people should not marry
again if they like!" said Edward.

"Bluebeard! How dare you say such shocking
things! Perhaps you will say next that
people need not care for one another when they
marry?"

"No," said he, meditatively; "I don't say
that at all."

"Well, then," said she, triumphantly, "of
course they can't care for more than one person,
so they ought not to marry twice."

"You think people can't care for more than
one person?" he inquired.

"Of course they can't," she answered,
decisively.

Laura thought a good deal about the
question after she went to bed that night, and
became more convinced about it than ever.
Edward thought of it too, and walking up to the
looking-glass, contemplated himself for some
time with a gloomy expression.

"Forty-two," he said to himself; and shook
his head very gloomily indeed.

CHAPTER IV.

MR. PRINGLESON wrought himself up to the
pitch of making a formal call on Mrs. Goldridge.

The failure of Royle's bank had been
rumoured, and Mrs. Goldridge entertained him
with a repetition of her friends' comments on
the subject. What would become of the family
now? People said they were utterly ruined.
Miss Royle had better have lowered her tone a
little, and then, perhaps, she might have been
comfortably settled by this time, instead of
seeing all her old admirers drop off: as they
inevitably would under the altered
circumstances.

Mr. Pringleson had lately mused a great deal
over the poverty of Mrs. Stalman and her
daughter, and had often consulted with himself
how it might be diminished. He had raised
his own rent (in spite of their remonstrances),
but had not achieved much in doing it. His
visit to Mrs. Goldridge achieved more, by
setting him thinking that, so long as his dear
friends were in no distress, it was better they
should keep out of a world composed of Royles
and Goldridges.

On reaching home, he found the house in
commotion and eager for his arrival. Mrs.
Stalman had known no peace since the
afternoon's post had brought a solicitor's letter,
announcing the decease of Colonel Tustin, who
had died unmarried in India, and had left the
whole of his considerable property to his cousin,
Mrs. Stalman, as a mark of his forgiveness and
affection. There was not much sleep under that
roof for the first night; neither was rest
restored to some of its inmates for many a weary
night to come.

Mr. Pringleson lay awake that night, and
many nights afterwards. Why? Because he