t,' here the shoe is drawn out of sight as though it had not
found favour in its owner's eyes. Mabel is astonished, tries to see
Lippa's face and not succeeding says,

'Do you mean that you do not like him?'

Not like him, oh, to be accused of that, not like him, when poor little
soul she is desperately in love with him. Oh, Mabel! Mabel! why can't
you guess? a few words from you would put everything right, and make two
people happy, but such is life!

'He has not much to live on,' says Lippa evasively.

'Now, child, you don't think you are going to take me in like that,' and
Mrs Seaton becomes quite vehement. 'What do you care about money, or
know about it either.'

'I know there are girls who can fall in love,' is the answer. 'I knew
one once who told me her idea of bliss was love in a cottage, but that
wouldn't suit me at all. I shouldn't know how to get on without heaps of
things that I could not have, if I married a poor man.' Lippa's fingers
are doing great damage to the ribbons which are attached to her gown,
and till they are reduced to a crumpled mess, she continues to take the
beauty out of them, by folding and refolding them. Mabel is only half
convinced and says no more to Philippa, but a long letter is written to
dear George, begging him to come to them soon, and he enjoying himself
vastly shooting and fishing does not come, and time passes on.

Philippa tries to forget Jimmy, and wonders how he is getting on, she
has yet to learn that,--

'Man's love is a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence.'

Love is forgotten and put on one side, for racing, shooting, hunting,
etc., and it is well that it is so, for a love-lorn youth is a decided
bore.

But James Dalrymple of the Guards has been more deeply wounded than he
owns to himself, his love for Miss Seaton is more than a passing fancy,
that causing pain for a short time, will be laughed over in about a
year. Love Lippa, he does hopelessly, madly, and so he will till the end
of the chapter.

Real true love is not a thing to be taken up and cast aside at will,
like a broken toy; it may grow upon us or come suddenly, why we cannot
tell, and although we hardly acknowledge to ourselves that Cupid, who
has wrought so much harm as well as good in the world, has paid us a
visit, yet we never feel quite the same again; maybe we are happier than
we have ever been before, or else, and alas it happens to very many,
that Eros' darts have only made a