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132 strengthen into the fixed colour that the other wears? Will the dainty contour of brow, lip, and chin in the daughter's face become thickened, even lost in time, as in the mother's case? They are so alike in features, colouring, and proportion, that the doubt is natural. Paul Vasher sits in the chancel opposite me, the Flemings a little below in the body of the church; once he turns his head and their eyes meet, and are held fast and long. It is a difficult look to read, but though no change passes over his face, it

Now the Benediction is spoken, and we rise and go our ways, standing aside in the road as Lady Flytton's carriage goes by. The girls are buzzing in low tones of the stranger, of her beauty, her bonnet, her gown; she has even astonished them into forgetting Mr. Vasher. We have dinner, that liberal meal at Charteris, that does not stand godmother to resurrection pies, cold remains, and potato puddings, or any other abomination. Our parents pay for us to be well fed, and we are; therefore the school prospers. We are in the first class-room now, and—oh, wonder!—I am actually seated in the midst of the potent Buffs: for so the six head girls of the school are called, who wield an authority in the school second only to that of Miss Tyburn. By no virtue of my own am I here, but Kate Lishaw, the head of them, has been pleased to take some small notice of me; therefore am I sitting cheek by jowl with my betters.

"Girls," says Kate, resting her charming, dark-eyed, mignonne face on her clasped hands, "I have some news; we are going to have a party."

"Not really?" "How I hate them!" "A lot of trouble for nothing!" "We shall get some supper, though!" "And there will be at least one man!" "He won't be asked." These ejacula-