oolish of her sex.

Mrs. Pallinson kept a sharp watch upon Adela throughout the evening,
plunging into the conversation every now and then with a somewhat
dictatorial and infallible air, and generally contriving to drag some
praise of Theobald into her talk: now dilating rapturously upon that
fever case which he had managed so wonderfully the other day, proving his
judgment superior to that of an eminent consulting physician; anon
launching out into laudation of his last poem, which had been set to
music by a young lady in St. John's-wood; and by-and-by informing the
company of her son's artistic talents, and his extraordinary capacity as
a judge of pictures. To these things the surgeon himself listened with a
deprecating air, smoothing his wristbands, and caressing his slim white
hands, while he playfully reproved his parent for her maternal weakness.

Mr. Pallinson held his ground near his cousin's chair till the last
moment, while John Saltram sat apart by one of the tables, listlessly
turning over a volume of engravings, and only looking up at long
intervals to join in the conversation. He had an absent weary look, which
puzzled Gilbert Fenton, who, being only a secondary personage in this
narrow circle, had ample leisure to observe his friend.

The three gentlemen left at the same time, Mr. Pallinson driving away in
a neat miniature brougham, after politely offering to convey his cousin's
guests to their destination. It was a bright starlight night, and Gilbert
walked to the Temple with John Saltram, through the quietest of the
streets leading east-wards. They lit their cigars as they left the
square, and walked for some time in a friendly companionable silence.
When they did speak, their talk was naturally of Adela Branston.

"I thought she was really charming to-night," Gilbert said, "in spite of
that fellow's efforts to absorb her attention. It is pretty easy to see
how the land lies in that direction; and it such a rival were likely to
injure you, you have a very determined one in Mr. Pallinson."

"Yes; the surgeon has evidently fixed his hopes upon poor old Michael
Branston's money. But I don't think he will succeed."

"You will not allow him to do so, I hope?"

"I don't know about that. Then you really admire the little woman,
Gilbert?"

"Very much; as much as I have ever admired any woman except Marian
Nowell."

"Ah, your Marian is a star, single and alone in her brightness, like that
planet up yon