he herself would
have strength to go through it. One thing at least was certain, that
the girl's enjoyment would be doubled by the presence of a companion of
her own age, who would be able to share her ecstasies, as a tired-out,
middle-aged woman could never do. Therefore, might Maud come? Could
Maud be spared for a month to give Mabel the very great pleasure of her
society? She should have every care, and be brought back to London
early in June.

Mrs Rendell carried the letter up to Maud as she practised in her room,
and handed it to her with a smile; and Maud flushed and paled, and laid
her hand affectionately on her little mother's shoulder.

"Mummy! how much from you, and how much from Mrs Nevins? You have had
something to do with this, I'm sure you have. The suggestion came from
you in the first instance!"

"Pooh! What a child! Such notions as she takes!" cried Mrs Rendell
laughingly. "How it comes about is little matter; you don't need to be
told how truly delighted Mabel will be to have you. You can believe in
that, at least. And Paris! You have always wanted to go to Paris,
dear!"

"Yes, mother, I have. Oh yes, always!" Maud smiled bravely, trying
hard to appear as pleased and elated as her mother expected. It was not
the first, nor the second, nor the twentieth time that she had
discovered schemes for her own benefit during the last few weeks.
School friends had been invited on visits; books for which she had
wished had opportunely arrived from town; concert tickets had been
purchased with unprecedented frequency. Maud fully appreciated the
kindly purpose of these attentions, and, to a certain extent, enjoyed
the amusements provided; but she was conscious of a dreary regret that
these long-wished-for pleasures should arrive at a time when it was
impossible to throw herself into them with whole-hearted enjoyment. The
regret was particularly keen at this moment, for to her, as to so many
girls, the first trip abroad had been the dream of a lifetime, and a
pang came with the realisation of how different from her expectations
the realisation must be. The ache at her heart would cloud the
brightness of the beautiful city,--she would look at everything, as it
were, through a veil of crape. The tears rose to her eyes despite all
her efforts, and she turned hastily aside, fearing that her mother might
think her ungrateful for receiving the news in such churlish fashion.
Mrs Rendell, however, aff