ine robes in the House of Lords, while she is peeping through the
nasty iron fretwork in the Ladies' Gallery to catch a glimpse of the
top of her husband's head in the House of Commons."

This splendid engagement of Lady Sophia's turned the tide for the
faithful John Vawdrey. Lady Jane met her rejected lover at Trouville,
and was so gracious to him that he ventured to renew his suit, and, to
his delighted surprise, was accepted. Anything was better than standing
out in the cold while the ducal engagement was absorbing everybody's
thoughts and conversation. Lady Sophia had boasted, in that playful way
of hers, of having her beauty-sister for chief bridesmaid; and the
beauty-sister had made up her mind that this thing should not be.
Perhaps she would have married a worse man than John Vawdrey to escape
such infamy.

And John Vawdrey was by no means disagreeable to her; nay, it bad been
pride, and not any disinclination for the man himself that had bidden
her reject him. He was clever, distinguished, and he loved her with a
romantic devotion which flattered and pleased her. Yes, she would marry
John Vawdrey.

Everybody was delighted at this concession, the lady's parents and
belongings most especially so. Here were two daughters disposed of; and
if the beauty had made the inferior match, it was only one of those
capricious turns of fortune that are more to be expected than the
common order of things.

So there was a double marriage the following spring at St. George's,
and Lady Jane's childish desire was gratified. There were two bishops
at the ceremony. True that one was only colonial, and hardly ranked
higher than the nursery hearth brush.

Fate was not altogether unkind to Lady Jane. Her humble marriage was
much happier than her sister's loftier union. The Duke, who had been so
good-natured as a lover, proved stupid and somewhat tiresome as a
husband. He gave his mind to hunting and farming, and cared for nothing
else. His chief conversation was about cattle and manure, guano and
composts, the famous white Chillingham oxen, or the last thing in
strawberry roans. He spent a small fortune that would have been large
for a small man--in the attempt to acclimatise strange animals in his
park in the Midlands. Sophia, Duchess of Dovedale, had seven country
seats, and no home. Her children were puny and feeble. They sickened in
the feudal Scotch castle, they languished in the Buckinghamshire
Eden--a freestone palace set a