son, and had no idea there could be any disgrace
in grasping at whatever she could get, or any effrontery in chattering
like a pie to the best gentleman in Christendom.

I had learnt something from the above scene besides what concerned the
ivory box: viz., that not on the robe de jaconas, pink or grey, nor yet
on the frilled and pocketed apron, lay the blame of breaking Dr. John's
heart: these items of array were obviously guiltless as Georgette's
little blue tunic. So much the better. But who then was the culprit?
What was the ground--what the origin--what the perfect explanation of
the whole business? Some points had been cleared, but how many yet
remained obscure as night!

"However," I said to myself, "it is no affair of yours;" and turning
from the face on which I had been unconsciously dwelling with a
questioning gaze, I looked through the window which commanded the
garden below. Dr. John, meantime, standing by the bed-side, was slowly
drawing on his gloves and watching his little patient, as her eyes
closed and her rosy lips parted in coming sleep. I waited till he
should depart as usual, with a quick bow and scarce articulate
"good-night.". Just as he took his hat, my eyes, fixed on the tall
houses bounding the garden, saw the one lattice, already commemorated,
cautiously open; forth from the aperture projected a hand and a white
handkerchief; both waved. I know not whether the signal was answered
from some viewless quarter of our own dwelling; but immediately after
there fluttered from, the lattice a falling object, white and
light--billet the second, of course.

"There!" I ejaculated involuntarily.

"Where?", asked Dr. John with energy, making direct for the window.
"What, is it?"

"They have gone and done it again," was my reply. "A handkerchief waved
and something fell:" and I pointed to the lattice, now closed and
looking hypocritically blank.

"Go, at once; pick it up and bring it here," was his prompt direction;
adding, "Nobody will take notice of _you: I_ should be seen."

Straight I went. After some little search, I found a folded paper,
lodged on the lower branch of a shrub; I seized and brought it direct
to Dr. John. This time, I believe not even Rosine saw me.

He instantly tore the billet into small pieces, without reading it. "It
is not in the least _her_ fault, you must remember," he said, looking
at me.

"_Whose_ fault?" I asked. "_Who_ is it?"

"You don't yet know, then?"

"Not i