set in movement a multitude of gossamer wings, some fluttering round
her, some more boldly settling on her hair or dress. Kenelm thought
she had not vainly boasted when she said that some of the creatures had
learned to know her. She released the Emperor of Morocco from her hat;
it circled round her fearlessly, and then vanished amidst the leaves of
the creepers. Lily opened the door and came out.

"I have heard of a philosopher who tamed a wasp," said Kenelm, "but
never before of a young lady who tamed butterflies."

"No," said Lily, proudly; "I believe I am the first who attempted it.
I don't think I should have attempted it if I had been told that others
had succeeded before me. Not that I have succeeded quite. No matter; if
they don't love me, I love them."

They re-entered the drawing-room, and Mrs. Cameron addressed Kenelm.

"Do you know much of this part of the country, Mr. Chillingly?"

"It is quite new to me, and more rural than many districts farther from
London."

"That is the good fortune of most of our home counties," said Mr.
Braefield; "they escape the smoke and din of manufacturing towns, and
agricultural science has not demolished their leafy hedgerows. The
walks through our green lanes are as much bordered with convolvulus and
honeysuckle as they were when Izaak Walton sauntered through them to
angle in that stream!"

"Does tradition say that he angled in that stream? I thought his haunts
were rather on the other side of London."

"Possibly; I am not learned in Walton or in his art, but there is an old
summer-house, on the other side of the lock yonder, on which is carved
the name of Izaak Walton, but whether by his own hand or another's who
shall say? Has Mr. Melville been here lately, Mrs. Cameron?"

"No, not for several months."

"He has had a glorious success this year. We may hope that at last his
genius is acknowledged by the world. I meant to buy his picture, but I
was not in time: a Manchester man was before me."

"Who is Mr. Melville? any relation to you?" whispered Kenelm to Lily.

"Relation,--I scarcely know. Yes, I suppose so, because he is my
guardian. But if he were the nearest relation on earth, I could not love
him more," said Lily, with impulsive eagerness, her cheeks flushing, her
eyes filling with tears.

"And he is an artist,--a painter?" asked Kenelm.

"Oh, yes; no one paints such beautiful pictures,--no one so clever, no
one so kind."

Kenelm strove to recollect