in blank discomposure.  He turned to Monsieur
Constant; but that retainer shrugged his shoulders
as though it were beyond his province or
his power to interfere.

"Confound it!" cried the dandy.  "It's very
vexatious; but the fact is, we've forgotten the
clothes."

"A nice affectionate father," murmured Mr.
Drax, in the dark.

The dilemma was perplexing, but not
irremediable.  Monsieur Constant explained that
Monsieur whom he had the honour to serve, had
left Mademoiselle's petit trousseau at his hotel
in London.  Would the ladies undertake to
procure clothes for the child, if a sum were left
in advance, sufficient for what she might
probably require?  Mrs. Bunnycastle bowed her
head in gracious approval of this proposal.
What sum would be requisite?  Oh! merely a
few pounds.  The valet whispered the master.
The latter, looking anything but pleased, but,
from a purse elegantly embroidered with beads
and gold thread, took out a couple of crisp five-
pound notes, which he handed to Mrs.
Bunnycastle. Then he rose, suppressing a slight
yawn, saying that it was past eleven o'clock,
and that he had detained the ladies an
unconscionably long time.

All the women's garments rustled—for they
had dressed themselves in silk attire, in
expectation of his visit—as he made his reverence
of farewell.  Mrs. Bunnycastle was profuse
in her thanks, and protestations of solicitude
for Lily's welfare.  The young ladies chimed in
harmoniously.

"She is to be brought up in the principles of
the Church of England?"

"Of course, of course. By all means; eh,
Constant?"

Monsieur Constant bowed diplomatically, as
though to convey that, professing as he might
himself a different creed, he had the profoundest
respect for the Church of England, as that of
the ladies before him, of Monsieur whom he
had the honour to serve, and of the genteel
classes generally.

"As her little mind expands," said Mrs.
Bunnycastle, "no efforts of ours shall be spared,
not only to instil into her piety and virtue, but
to lay the foundation of clever ornate
accomplishments—"

"Thank you, thank you," Mr. Blunt returned,
rather hastily, and cutting short a further
instalment of the paraphrased prospectus; "when
she's old enough, of course she'll learn French
and drawing, and that sort of thing."

"And dancing," suggested the valet, in a low
deeply respectful voice.

Mr. Blunt started, as though a wasp had
stung him.  When he spoke again, there was a
strange dry harshness in his voice.  "Madam,"
he said, turning to the schoolmistress with a
sternness unwonted in so urbane a gentleman,
"I do not want my daughter to learn to dance.
Mind that, if you please.  No dancing for Miss
Lily Floris.  I have the honour to wish you a
very good night."

He was going.  He was on the threshold,
when Monsieur Constant whispered to him:

"Monsieur has forgotten to bid adieu to la
petite."

With his usual charming grace, he
imprinted a kiss on Lily's brow.  The little one
did not heed him.  She had fallen asleep again.
He turned, bowed, and touched the tips of all
the ladies' fingers in succession.  He was
unrivalled in the art of touching your hand, without
shaking it.  The women's garments rustled
again as they bent in eddying curtseys.
Monsieur Constant bestowed a bow on the company,
reverential but not servile, as became his degree;
and Pepper ushered the two to the door, and
they went away.

The first thing the Bunnycastles did when
the sound of the hackney-coach wheels had
died away, was to bear the lamp and the
money into the back parlour, and rejoin the
discreet Mr. Drax.  Then they proceeded to
count the fifty-two sovereigns and a half, all
over again.  Then they examined the crisp
bank-notes, from the medallion of Britannia
to the signature of Mr. Henry Hase.  Then
they turned to the backs of those documents,
scanning the much-blotted dorsal scribblings—
the worst pens, the worst ink, and the worst
pothooks and hangers in the world always seem
called into play for the endorsement of bank-
notes—and wondered whether "Blogg," who
dated from Isleworth, or "Cutchins and Co.,"
who gave their address in Leather-lane, or
"C. J. Gumby," who seemingly resided at Bow,
could have anything to do with the mysterious
strangers who had just faded away from their
ken, leaving a little child, not four years old, a
checked woollen shawl, and sixty pounds odd,
sterling money of this realm, behind them.  They
could make nothing of the notes, however,
beyond the fact that they were genuine, or of the
gold, save that it chinked cheerily, or of either,
save that the money looked very nice.  Then
they drew breath, and interchanged glances of
pleasing perplexity.

I think it was Mr. Drax who, with his never-
failing discretion, now suggested that it might
perhaps be better to put the "new pupil" to
bed, as she had come a long way, and must be
very tired.  Poor little "new pupil!"  The
Bunnycastles had forgotten all about her.
Adelaide acknowledged with a smile that the
little body had quite slipped her memory, and,
while she rang the bell for Pepper, requested
Barbara to fetch the child from the drawing-
room.

The child looked up when she was brought
into the cozy back parlour, but did not cry.
She seemed to be rather relieved by the
absence of the two men who had brought her to
Rhododendron House.  The dandy's resplendent
attire and dazzling teeth, and the valet's coat,
cameo, and smile, had alike failed in producing
a favourable effect on her.  On the other hand,
while she submitted to be patted on the head
by Mrs. Bunnycastle, and severely smiled at by