ection was cherished by your mother. But of all silly
things in the world, the silliest is a present that is not wanted. It
destroys the sentiment a little perhaps but it enhances the gift, if I
ask you in the most literal manner to assist me in giving you something
that really would please you?"

"But how can I, my dear mother?" said Egremont. "You have ever been so
kind and so generous that I literally want nothing."

"Oh! you cannot be such a fortunate man as to want nothing, Charles,"
said Lady Marney with a smile. "A dressing-case you have: your rooms are
furnished enough: all this is in my way; but there are such things as
horses and guns of which I know nothing, but which men always require.
You must want a horse or a gun, Charles. Well, I should like you to
get either; the finest, the most valuable that money can purchase. Or a
brougham, Charles; what do you think of a new brougham? Would you like
that Barker should build you a brougham?"

"You are too good, my dear mother. I have horses and guns enough; and my
present carriage is all I can desire."

"You will not assist me, then? You are resolved that I shall do
something very stupid. For to give you something I am determined."

"Well my dear mother," said Egremont smiling and looking round, "give me
something that is here."

"Choose then," said Lady Marney, and she looked round the blue satin
walls of her apartment, covered with cabinet pictures of exquisite art,
and then at her tables crowded with precious and fantastic toys.

"It would be plunder, my dear mother," said Egremont.

"No, no; you have said it; you shall choose something. Will you have
those vases?" and she pointed to an almost matchless specimen of old
Sevres porcelain.

"They are in too becoming a position to be disturbed," said Egremont,
"and would ill suit my quiet chambers, where a bronze or a marble is
my greatest ornament. If you would permit me, I would rather choose a
picture?"

"Then select one at once," said Lady Marney; "I make no reservation,
except that Watteau, for it was given me by your father before we were
married. Shall it be this Cuyp?"

"I would rather choose this," said Egremont, and he pointed to the
portrait of a saint by Allori: the face of a beautiful young girl,
radiant and yet solemn, with rich tresses of golden brown hair, and
large eyes dark as night, fringed with ebon lashes that hung upon the
glowing cheek.

"Ah! you choose that! Well, that was a gr