r-in-law I should take it quite as an ill compliment
that you had never asked him to sit," observed Lyle. "But," he added in
a whisper, "I don't suppose any artist would care to paint such a hard,
rugged-looking fellow as Gwynne."

Olive looked on the pretty red and white of the boyish dabbler in
Art--for Lyle had lately taken a fancy that way too--and then at the
countenance he maligned. She did not say a word; but Lyle hovering
round, found his interference somewhat sharply put aside during the
whole evening.

When assembled round the supper-table they talked of Christal's journey.
It was undertaken by invitation of Mrs. Fludyer, to whom the young
damsel had made herself quite indispensable. Her liveliness charmed
away the idle lady's ennui, while her pride and love of aristocratic
exclusiveness equally gratified the same feelings for her patroness.
And from the mist that enwrapped her origin, the ingenious and perhaps
self-deceived young creature had contrived to evolve such a grand fable
of "ancient descent" and "noble but reduced family," that everybody
regarded her in the same light as she regarded herself. And surely,
as the quick-sighted Mrs. Gwynne often said, no daughter of a long
illustrious line was ever prouder than Christal Manners.

She indulged the party with a brilliant account of Mrs. Fludyer's
anticipations of pleasure at Brighton, whither the whole family at the
Hall were bound.

"Really, we shall be quite desolate without a single soul left at
Farnwood, shall we not, Olive?" observed Mrs. Gwynne.

Olive answered, "Yes,--very," without much considering of the matter.
Her thoughts were with Harold, who was leaning back in his chair,
absorbed in one of those fits of musing, which with him were not
unfrequent, and which no one ever regarded, save herself. How deeply
solemn it was to her at such times to feel that she alone held the key
of his soul--that it lay open, with all its secrets, to her, and to her
alone. What marvel was it if this knowledge sometimes moved her with
strange sensations; most of all, while, beholding the reserved exterior
which he bore in society, she remembered the times when she had seen him
goaded into terrible emotion, or softened to the weakness of a child.

At Olive's mechanical affirmative, Lyle Derwent brightened up amazingly.
"Miss Rothesay, I--I don't intend going away, believe me!"

Christal turned quickly round. "What are you saying, Mr. Derwent?"

He hung his