rosy lips.

"My lady has been giving her idol of her existence a caudle
lecture--subject, matrimony," mused Miss Everard, sauntering lazily
along in the midst of her little dogs, "and really it is high time, if
she means to have Aileen for a daughter-in-law; for the heir of Thetford
Towers is rather doubtful that he is not falling in love with me; and
Aileen is dreadfully jealous and disagreeable; and my lady is anxious,
and fidgeted to death about it; and Sir Rupert doesn't want to himself
if he can help it. I must be a fascinating little thing, to be sure, and
I feel for him, beyond everything; at the same time Beauty," said the
young lady, addressing the ugliest of the poodles with a confidential
little nod, "they might all spare themselves the trouble of being
tormented on the subject; because, you see, my dear little doggy, I
wouldn't marry Sir Rupert Thetford if he were heir to the throne of
England, much less Thetford Towers. He's a very nice young man, and a
very amiable young man, and a very good-looking young man, I have no
doubt; but I'm not in love with him, and never shall be; and I'm going
to marry for love, or die an old maid. It seems to me a Levantine
pirate, or an Italian brigand, or a knight of the road, would suit my
ideas; but I suppose there is no use hoping for such fortune as that;
but as for Sir Rupert--oh-h-h! good gracious!"

Miss Everard stopped with a shrill, feminine shriek. She had loitered
down to the gates, where a young man stood talking to the lodge-keeper,
with a big Newfoundland dog gambolling ponderously about him. The big
Newfoundland made an instant dash into Miss Everard's guard of honor,
with one deep, bass bark, like distant thunder, and which effectually
drowned the yelps of the poodles. May flew to the rescue, seizing the
Newfoundland's collar, and pulling him back with all the might of two
little white hands.

"You great, horrid brute!" cried May, with flashing eyes, "how dare you!
Call-off your dog, sir, this instant! Don't you see how he is
frightening mine!"

She turned imperiously to the Newfoundland's master, the bright eyes
flashing, the pink cheeks aflame--very pretty, indeed, in her wrath.

"Down, Hector!" called the young man, authoritatively; and Hector, like
the well-trained animal he was, subsided instantly. "I beg your pardon,
young lady! Hector, you stir at your peril, sir! I am very sorry he has
alarmed you."

He doffed his cap with careless grace, and