amusing and entertaining, I soon found it advisable not to be in the drawing-room every evening in the week. And at this time I made the acquaintance of a very nice family at Highgate-a widow lady with five daughters. There was one son too, but he was almost always at sea, being a lieutenant in the Navy. I spent a good many agreeable evenings at that house at Highgate. They did not receive many visitors, and I began after a year or two's acquaintance to feel quite like one of the family. But after a time the eldest daughter married, and very soon her sisters followed her example one after the other. Not quite one after the other, though, for two were married at the same time at Highgate Church. I was somewhat disappointed at this, for I had often wondered whether I might not judiciously make one of these young ladies Mrs. Dangle. But young ladies are apt to be dreadfully premature. And after the wedding-that is the double wedding which came last, I was so dreadfully low-spirited that the ladies at Sydney Square remarked the change in my spirits, and it became quite a common subject of conversation among them. Indeed, for some time I used to go once or twice a week to Highgate to look sorrowfully at their old house, which was empty and to be let, the mother having decided to live with one or other of her married daughters. But I soon consoled myself, or perhaps I should say was consoled. But, as I am anxious to come to the main subject of my story, I will not linger on these details. I will pass over altogether my experiences at the boarding-house, though that is to omit a great deal of interesting matter. I will not do more than mention a nice family at Camberwell. This was a mere passing acquaintance; I do not think I visited there more than fifty or sixty times. Then I had a pleasant intimacy with a young widow living at a hydropathic establishment at Streatham. But she suddenly took a violent dislike to London, which she had previously admired very much, and went to live in a large pension' in Florence. I have, too, in one of my albums some photographs which came from a family at Hampstead, but I would rather not say much about them. I may as well come at once to those experiences, so pleasant and so painful, which centre round a certain house whose exact position I had rather not name. I will only say it was in a small square lying off the Bayswater Road, and was not very far from Kensington Gardens. In this house there were two young ladies very beautiful and accomplished. They were about the same age, and for several months after my first acquaintance I thought they were twins. Then I found they were not-neither of them-but that one was a year younger than the other. Their names were Laura and Lilian: they were

very much alike; both had dark hair and eyes, both had fine figures and beautiful arms and hands. Laura, however, had a mole a little above the right eyebrow, Lilian had a purple scar on the lobe of the left ear. Laura had a sweet soprano voice, Lilian played the piano. Both drew and painted in water-colours, both could speak two foreign languages, though Laura was the stronger in French, Lilian in German. They had travelled a great deal, and so had a great advantage over me, who had never been out of England, though I had often been tempted to spend a holiday in Switzerland, as I am told one occasionally meets very nice ladies at table d'hôte. Their father, Mr. Ellerton, was a literary man, though I never knew exactly what he wrote. He generally spent his evenings at the Savage Club. Their mother was dead, and they had living with them, a sort of companion house-keeper, a Mrs. Bray. She had been their governess, then had married, and then, as Mr. Bray and Mrs. Ellerton died about the same time, she had returned to keep house for the young girls and their papa. She was then about thirty, I should think, and was a very quiet appreciative sort of person. I hadn't known Laura and Lilian for more than a month or two before I saw how superior they were to the other young ladies; I know they were prettier and more refined, not always talking, but were good and appreciative listeners. I remembered how interested they were when I told of an adventure I had had with an enraged tailor, who persisted in smoking in the Underground Railways in a non-smoking carriage when I was travelling with some ladies; how furious he was at first, and how by firmness and threats to call the guard he was calmed, and how he afterwards became quite polite, and did my repairs at most reduced prices. They were even more amused at this than I expected, and got me to repeat the story several times. They always listened eagerly, though sometimes I thought they laughed in the wrong places-in the grave passages when I was in difficulties-but I attribute that to their anticipation of what was coming. It was very pleasant for me to hear them ask:

6

Oh, Mr. Dangle, do tell us that story about the cow in the orchard, when you were a little boy, you know; or the one about your white waistcoat, Mr. Dangle.' And even before I began they would throw their heads back and laugh till Mrs. Bray would say :

'I don't know what has come over these girls, Mr. Dangle.' But she was smiling too, herself. There was a young naval officer, Lieutenant Pennefather, who used to come occasionally, but they always asked for my little tales in preference to his, though naval officers have quite a reputation for telling stories-spinning yarns I think they call it-I don't know why. And I used to sing to

them, too, 'When other lips' and 'Good-bye, Sweetheart, Goodbye,' so that from the first my visits were very pleasant. And the girls were so exceedingly fascinating that I soon saw that I should have need of more than my usual amount of caution to prevent my saying anything rash. I found out, however, that each of them had a small income left her by her mother, and as my circumstances had improved, I was quite in a position to marry, and I used to ask myself, Could I do better?' But as there seemed to be no hurry, I made no attempt to settle this important question. Again and again, however, when sitting quietly in my own room, I would indulge in the most delicious day-dreams of domestic felicity with one or other of the two sisters. Sometimes it was Laura who sang duets with me in some charming cottage at Kew, sometimes it was Lilian who played my accompaniments. I am not ashamed to confess this, for the wisest men are sometimes visited with these pleasant visions, and I took care that they did not hurry me into any precipitate action. And indeed I had no wish to change anything in our mutual relations. My visits to the house in the Bayswater square became quite regularevery Tuesday and Friday; and very often on Sundays I would join them as they came out of church, and we would take a walk in Kensington Gardens, and sometimes I would stop to dinner— they dined at two on Sundays-and sometimes I would have tickets for the Zoological Gardens, or we would run down to Kew. The Sunday visits were occasional, perhaps I should say frequent, but the Tuesdays and Fridays never varied, or were interrupted only when the whole family went off in the summer to make a two months' tour in Switzerland. How long this pleasant state of things lasted I will not particularise. I am going to tell how it ceased, and how, instead of rest and repose, I found hesitation and perplexity.

CHAPTER II.

I REMEMBER once reading a poem in which the sentiment is expressed that the Palace of our Delight '-such was the expression in the poem-sometimes falls down suddenly, as by an earthquake shock, and sometimes crumbles slowly and almost insensibly away. And this remark has been borne out by my experience. When the Highgate girls married and left lonely their mother and me, I was painfully conscious of what I may call the crumbling process. When the young widow at Streatham suddenly announced to me that she was going to Florence, that rather resembled an earthquake shock in its effects on me. And

when I had my troubles with the Hampstead family (which I do not wish to narrate), that was another earthquake with a certain mixture of the volcano. And now again my 'Palace of Delight was to be rudely shaken, and then to moulder and crumble slowly beneath the withering influence of doubt and uncertainty. I had no idea of what was coming. Never did I feel happier than on a certain Tuesday evening when I took the Bayswater 'bus at the corner of Tottenham Court Road. I hadn't seen the girls on the Sunday, and therefore had all the more to say, and I had learned a new song which I was sure they would like. And Mrs. Bray had worked a pair of slippers which she had said would be ready for me on that night, and the girls would be sure to make a great fuss about it. So I was very merry as I got down from the 'bus, and I was actually humming an air as I walked to the house-a thing which under ordinary circnmstances I think it quite improper to do. But such levities may be pardoned to a man who was going to see two such nice young ladies as Laura and Lilian. To my surprise, when I entered the drawing-room I found it empty. The little page who let me in had said nothing, and I did not know what to make of the deserted room. Ordinarily not only were the girls and Mrs. Bray there, but also some of their gentlemen friends. They had several of these-mere boys mostly, family connections, I fancy, to whom they felt bound to show a certain measure of hospitality. The two most frequent visitors were a certain Lieutenant Pennefather, R.N., and a Dr. Boddington. These men were very assiduous and attentive, and I fancied I could see that both Laura and Lilian found their frequent visits rather burdensome, though some excuse is to be made for the Lieutenant, as it was only during leave of absence that he could visit there at all. But to-night nobody was there. And then another wonder took place: Mr. Ellerton came down. He didn't dine at home once in two months, preferring the Savage Club to the refinements of a drawing-room. He greeted me, and then gave me a letter which ran as follows:

'Dear Mr. Dangle,—We are all going out to-morrow (Tuesday) evening, and in consequence shall not be able to see you. But we hope you will come on Friday as usual. Yours very truly,

'LAURA ELLERTON.'

When I had read the letter I looked at Mr. Ellerton.

'Laura gave me the letter to post,' he said.

'And you forgot to post it,' I cried. I felt a little disappointed, for two fresh young ladies had arrived in Sydney Square, and I was very anxious to make their acquaintance.

'Well,' said Mr. Ellerton, 'I could say that I forgot it; for I did pass the first pillar-box without thinking of the letter. But in fact I purposely abstained from posting it. I wanted you to come here to-night, that I might have a little chat with you. You, I am sure, have something you want to say to me.' Here Mr. Ellerton paused, but, as I only murmured inarticulately, he went on:

'I am aware that I have been very careless of certain of a father's duties. I am always at my club. You have never been able to find me at home. I quite appreciate the delicacy of your conduct in wishing to speak to me, before saying anything to my daughter.'

From the first I had had a presentiment of what was coming, but the situation was still very embarrassing. If I did not use the greatest care and circumspection, I should either find myself politely requested to cease my visits to the house, or else have to commit myself hopelessly and finally. And the fact that I was obliged to say something, that Mr. Ellerton was there looking at me, steadily awaiting a reply, increased my perplexity. The perspiration stood in cold drops on my forehead. My old visions, too frequently indulged in, of Laura or Lilian as the presiding genius of the cottage at Kew, rose before me, and at the same time I remembered, with a feeling almost of terror, that one of the new boarders at Sydney Square was exceedingly pretty. But I am proud to say that Mr. Ellerton's unnecessary abruptness and indelicate interference did not hurry me beyond the bounds of prudence. At first I could articulate nothing but Really, Mr. Ellerton' or 'Mr. Ellerton, I-' but these and suchlike disI— jointed phrases did not, as I was conscious all the time, commit me to anything. At last I said :—

'I think I quite catch your drift, Mr. Ellerton, but I hardly know what I ought to say to you. Indeed,' I went on, for I had now pretty well recovered my composure, you will easily understand that this is a matter for very serious deliberation and reflection; the decision cannot be suddenly made.'

'Deliberation-reflection-suddenly made!' he rejoined. Mr. Dangle, will you oblige me by moving your head a little to one side-so? Now look at the wall, what do you see?' The paper was discoloured; there was a round dark patch.

'Mr. Dangle,' he continued, 'you always sit in that place, when Lilian is playing. And you use brilliantine, I suppose, or something of that kind. That spot, sir, is known in the household as "Dangle, his mark." Your visits are noticed by all the square. I calculated just now that you had been here three hundred and twenty-seven times, not including Sundays. And in