without some such fine-spun fancy I should
never set my foot on the stage again."

It must not be supposed that in her
prosperity Mabel was neglectful of Aunt Mary
and her family. A constant correspondence
was kept up between them, conducted chiefly
by Janet and Mabel, although Mrs. Walton
would send a letter now and then containing
all the family news, and Mrs. Saxelby
occasionally covered an elegant monogram-surmounted
sheet of paper with her delicate ladylike
handwriting, which looked so singularly clear and
regular, and was so provokingly difficult to
decipher. The news from Dublin was
extremely good. Polly and her husband were
prospering greatly. Carlo Bensa had been
made conductor of a society for the cultivation
of vocal part-music, and had almost more
teaching than he could manage. Uncle John
was permanently engaged as a contributor to
the scientific journal which had already accepted
some of his papers on chemistry. Janet, as of
old, was her father's faithful indefatigable
amanuensis. But of Jack's prospects the
accounts were positively brilliant. He had been
painting and studying industriously, and, with
such good results, that he intended to send a
picture to the Academy next year. But this
was not all; he had found a patron!— a patron
who praised his pictures, and, moreover, bought
them at a liberal price!— a patron who
prophesied for Jack a high position amongst
English landscape painters, and who had invited
him to come and stay at his house in London.
It was incredible good fortune; and Janet, who
communicated the pleasant tidings, departed
from the usual sober moderation that
characterised her style to dilate upon the success
which seemed at last about to crown her
brother's cheerful steady perseverance. " And
only think, dear Mabel," she wrote, " to
whom we are indebted for having introduced
this discerning person (we think him a miracle
of acumen, and you will think so too, for Jack's
sake) to our family! To dear old Captain
Duff, in whose ship you came across to
Ireland! Jack's Mecænas is a brother-in-law of
the captain's, and a Scotchman like himself.
He lives in London, and is in some trade or
business there, and has plenty of money. But,
what is better, he has the good taste to cultivate
an acquaintance with the fine arts, has a
well-chosen little collection of paintings, and is
reckoned— Captain Duff says—a very competent
judge of modern pictures. He is delighted
with Jack's efforts, so he must be a competent
judge, mustn't he? The first thing that struck
him in Jack's portfolio was that pretty view on
the river Clare, just above the town. I
remember your telling me that you were studying
Ophelia that morning while Jack was making
his sketch. Have you forgotten? He bought
it immediately, and gave Jack a commission for
an oil painting; and what do you think Jack
did when Captain Duff and his brother-in-law
were gone? He is looking over my shoulder,
and says I must not tell you, but I will, to let
you see that he is just the same harum-scarum
Jack that you and I remember when we were
children. Well, Mabel, the door had scarcely
closed on our visitors when Jack came rushing
up to the drawing-room, three stairs at a time,
hugged mother and me frantically, danced round
the table, and finally stood on his head and
knocked his heels together! Don't you
recollect how he used to frighten us by his
acrobatic performances in the old days?"

The letter went on to say that, his services
not being needed at the Dublin theatre for a few
weeks, Jack would probably take a holiday and
come over to London shortly. Mabel had
written to Aunt Mary by return of post
congratulating them all warmly on the good news,
and saying that she and her mother should feel
quite hurt if Jack installed himself under any
other roof than theirs during his stay in
London, and that his room should be prepared
forthwith.

Dooley was highly excited on learning that
"Cousin Dack" was expected, and set about
making various arrangements for his entertainment —
such as appropriating a certain number
of square inches in his own particular garden-
bed to Jack's use, and giving up his best wooden
spade to the expected guest. He also collected
together a perfect menagerie of legless, headless,
and otherwise mutilated wooden animals,
which Jack was to mend and paint into
renewed beauty. " Dack may have my ninepins
to p'ay wis. Do 'oo sink Dack likes ninepins?"
said Dooley, with much earnestness, and was
greatly gratified on being assured that Jack
would doubtless derive exquisite enjoyment
from that amusing game. At length one
morning a ring was heard at the garden gate of
Desmond Lodge, Highgate, and Jack, carrying
his modest valise in his hand, was ushered into
the little hall. His cousin received him affectionately,
and Mrs. Saxelby with the soft gracious
urbanity that became her so well.

"Dear old Jack!" cried Mabel, holding both
his hands, " the sight of your bright pleasant
face is gude for sair een, as Captain Duff would
say."

"But how did you come? Where is your
luggage?" asked Mrs. Saxelby, with the very
slightest flavour of patronage in her tone.

"My luggage? Oh, that little valise in the
hall constitutes my ' luggage,' Mrs. Saxelby.
And I walked here from the corner of the lane
where the humble 'bus put me down. I arrived
in London last evening, but I would not disturb
you so late. I knew Mabel would be at the
theatre, so I took a bed at an hotel, and went
to the Thespian to see Miss Bell as Beatrice.
And didn't I feel just proud sitting there in the
pit, when the audience expressed its opinion in
the unmistakable manner to which I suppose
Miss Bell is tolerably well accustomed by this
time! And didn't I wish mother could have
been there to see it and hear it, bless her
heart!"

There was so much to be told on both sides,
and so many discursive episodes in their talk,