rt for her benefit, was a device of Eloise's,
and not one of anterior date.

"Thank you," said Mr. St. George Erne; "that being settled, will you
have the kindness to order rooms prepared for me and my traps?"

Which Mrs. Arles disappeared to do.

It was early the next morning that Eloise knocked at Mrs. Arles's door.

"Good bye!" said she, looking in. "And good bye to The Rim! I don't
suppose his Arch-Imperial Highness, Mr. Earl St. George Erne, will want
to see my face immediately. I've only taken my clothes, as they'd be of
no use to him, and"--

"Where are you going?" inquired Mrs. Arles from among her pillows, as
quietly as if such an exodus were an every-day affair.

"To the Murrays',--till I can find something to do."

"What can you find to do?"

"I haven't the least idea," said Eloise, coming in and sitting down.
"I've thought all night. I can't do anything. I can't teach; I can't
sew; I can't play. I _can_ starve; can't I, Mrs. Arles?"

"You don't know that!"

"Well, I can be a nursery-governess, or I can sing in a chorus; I should
make a very decent _figurante_, or I could go round with baskets.
Perhaps I can get writing. There's one comfort: I sha'n't have anything
more to do with Arabic numerals till the latest day I live, and needn't
know whether two and two make four or five. I may remember, though, that
two from two leave nothing!"

"Yes,--we are all equal to subtraction."

"So, good bye, Mrs. Arles," said Eloise, rising. "We've had pleasant
times together, first and last. I dare say, I've tried you to death.
You'll forgive me, and only remember the peaceful part. If I succeed,
I'll write you. And if I don't, you needn't bother. I'm well and strong,
and seventeen."

Mrs. Arles elaborated a faint smile, kissed Eloise's cheek, told her she
would help her look about for something, rang for Hazel to close the
door the careless girl left ajar as she went springing down-stairs, and
arranged herself anew in the laced pillows that singularly became with
their setting the creamy hue of her tranquil face.

But Eloise was keeping up her spirits by an artificial process that she
meant should last at least as far as the Murrays'. Passing, on her way,
the door of her father's cozy cabinet, the attraction overcame her, she
turned the handle, only for a moment, and looked in. The place was too
full of memories: yonder he had stood, and she remembered what he said;
there he had sat and stroked her hair; h