hands. He did something more, I believe;
but I don't know what. Only it made Mildred
blush, whatever it was. "I have been longing
for you all this morning at the Academy;
upon my word I have! Don't you believe
me?" All said very quickly, but not so
much in the artist rollicking voice, as in the
manner of a man grown fine from original
vulgarity, and now affecting superior fashions.

Mildred looked up, a different creature
now to the girl who had stumbled over her
toes in the drawing-room not a minute ago, and
even to the one who had enacted the part of
a society queen, when she handed Mr. Kelly
the music, and showed her superiors how that
five hundred a year was her slave and humble
admirer. She had looked pretty then,
but forced and conscious, while now she was
quite beautiful in the sudden rush of love and
self-abandonment, bursting through the cloud
of timidity ever on her face, like a noble song
breaking through deep silence. She put her
hand frankly into his, and they went together
into the dining-room—a grand place for
boarding-house flirtations; being supposed
to be safe.

"And have you thought of me, little
Mildred?" said Mr. Henry Harley in the
same off-hand way, twirling his hair just at
the corner curls.

"A little," said Mildred quietly, creeping
closer to him.

After a little while longer Mildred said she
must go; "it was getting near dinner-time, and
the servants would be coming in to lay the
cloth." Mr. Harley, after a show of sorrow
and persuasion, caught hold of her as she
turned to leave the room, when the servant
opened the door; opening it full on Miss
Mildred in the very fact of having an offer made
by Mr. Harley. So at least was her version
down stairs to cook, where they laughed over
the matter together. Ann shut the door with
praiseworthy discretion, and Mr. Harley
made half a pirouette, and said—"Mildred,
we were fairly caught then!"

Of course Ann told Mrs. Smith. And of
course Mrs. Smith spoke to Mr. Harley, and
asked him what he meant, and what were his
intentions.

Mr. Henry Harley fidgeted about the fire-
place like a stoker with St. Vitus's dance.
Intentions? Mildred was, he said, a very
nice girl—odd, amusing, clever, and all
that—but—a—he had, in short, no
intentions. And Mr. Harley hummed a few bars
of " Non Andrai," and poked the fire
furiously.

Tears came into Mrs. Smith's mild blue
eyes.  This would have been such a good
match for Mildred, friendless, fatherless,
penniless as she was; for though Mr.
Harley was not as rich as Mr. Kelly by
two hundred a year, yet a man of any
income whatever, is a good match for a dowerless
girl.  So, at least, most mothers
think.  And it had been part of Mrs. Smith's
hopes in the future, that her child might
meet with a partner, as she used to call it,
among her boarders, and so be saved from
the miseries of an uncertain and dependent
position. Of course she would have preferred
Mr. Kelly; but she would have been well
content with Mr. Harley, who was such a
kind-hearted creature, and such an elegant
artist. The blow was severe.

"I am sure, Mrs. Smith," continued Mr.
Henry, with considerable embarrassment, and
a guilty blinking of the eyes; "I am sure I
was not aware your daughter did me the
honour of caring more about me than about
anybody else. I have laughed and flirted a
little with her, of course—all men flirt with
nice girls, and Mildred is a very nice girl
—but I never thought of gaining her
affections—upon my word, I didn't!"

"I hope not, Mr. Harley," said Mrs. Smith,
wiping her eyes. " It is very unfortunate, I
am sure, for there's Mr. Kelly—"

"Ah—yes!" 'cried Mr. Henry Harley,
making as if he would poke his respectable
landlady, as she stood soft and
solid before him, "Kelly's the man. Of
course he is. All the house is talking of it.
Of course—Kelly, Kelly. He is a catch, he
is; and Miss Mildred had better make up to
him. I have nothing, and should not dream
of marrying a nice girl like that, and not be
able to keep her like a lady. I think that, if
you like, the most dishonourable thing a man
can do. However much I loved a girl, I
wouldn't marry her unless I could keep her
properly. No, Kelly's the man. He can
afford the luxury of a wife—I can't!"

"But then, Mr. Harley, if you did not
mean to marry Mildred, how was it that, as
Ann said—" began Mrs. Smith, with a
puzzled air.

"Servants are invariable fibbers,"
interrupted Mr. Harley. " Whatever Ann said, it
was an untruth, be assured. There now, I don't
want to know what it was; but I tell you
beforehand it was false."

"But, I think," urged Mrs. Smith, faintly,
after a moment's pause to take breath and
recover from the effects of this moral blow,
"for Mr. Kelly's sake, and Mildred's, Mr.
Harley, I think you had better—"

"Go?" said Mr. Harley.

"Go," said Mrs. Smith; and she twirled her
cap-string.

"That is a hard punishment," said Mr.
Harley. "How have I deserved it?"

"No, no,—not a punishment."

"A precaution, then?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Harley." And the widow's
blue eyes looked up from the ground, much
as Mildred's would have done, and then
looked stolidly down again.

But Mr. Harley would not admit that. He
pleaded his cause with a vast deal of fervour,
vowing that if suffered to remain, it should
be better for Mildred, for that he would
treat her so judiciously, so tenderly, and yet