ng at a huge
full-length opposite of Lord Grosville as M.F.H., a masterpiece indeed
of early Victorian vulgarity.

Then suddenly, hastily, with that flashing softness which so often
transformed her expression, she turned towards him, trying to make
amends.

"But the library--that was <i>bien</i>--ah! <i>tr-res, tr-res</i> bien</i>!"

Her r's rolled a little as she spoke, with a charming effect, and she
looked at him radiantly, as though to strike and to make amends were
equally her prerogative, and she asked no man's leave.

"You've not yet seen what there is to see here," said Ashe, smiling.
"Look behind you."

The girl turned her slim neck and exclaimed. For behind Ashe's chair was
the treasure of the house. It was a "Dance of Children," by one of the
most famous of the eighteenth-century masters. From the dark wall it
shone out with a flower-like brilliance, a vision of color and of grace.
The children danced through a golden air, their bodies swaying to one of
those "unheard melodies" of art, sweeter than all mortal tunes; their
delicate faces alive with joy. The sky and grass and trees seemed to
caress them; a soft sunlight clothed them; and flowers brushed their
feet.

Kitty turned back again and was silent. Was it Ashe's fancy, or had she
grown pale?

"Did you like it?" he asked her. She turned to him, and for the second
time in their acquaintance he saw her eyes floating in tears.

"It is too beautiful!" she said, with an effort--almost an angry effort.
"I don't want to see it again."

"I thought it would give you pleasure," said Ashe, gently, suddenly
conscious of a hope that she was not aware of the slight look of
amusement with which Mary Lyster was contemplating them both.

"So it did," said Kitty, furtively applying her lace handkerchief to her
tears; "but"--her voice dropped--"when one's unhappy--very
unhappy--things like that--things like <i>Heaven</i>--hurt! Oh, what a <i>fool</i>
I am!" And she sat straightly up, looking round her.

There was a pause; then Ashe said, in another voice:

"Look here, you know this won't do. I thought we were to be cousins."

"Well?" said Kitty, indifferently, not looking at him.

"And I understood that I was to be taken into respectable cousinly
counsel?"

"Well?" said Kitty again, crumbling her bread. "I can't do it here, can
I?"

Ashe laughed.

"Well, anyhow, we're going to sample the garden to-morrow morning,
aren't we?"

"I suppose so," said Ki