miroir de l'amour.'_

'Ah! _mais il ne faut pas couvrir trop l'abime avec des fleurs_,' said
Mrs. Barton, as a sailor from his point of vantage might cry, 'Rocks
ahead!'

Arthur only joined occasionally in the conversation; he gazed long and
ardently on his daughter, and then sketched with his thumb-nail on the
cloth, and when they arose from the table, Mrs. Barton said:

'Now, now, I am not going to allow you gentlemen to spend any more time
over your wine. This is our first evening together; come into the
drawing-room with us, and we shall have some music.'

Like most men of an unevenly balanced mind, Arthur loved an eccentric
costume, and soon after he appeared in a long-tasselled cap and a
strangely coloured smoking jacket; he wore a pair of high-heeled
brocaded slippers, and, twanging a guitar, hummed to himself
plaintively. Then, when he thought he had been sufficiently admired, he
sang _A che la morte, Il Balen_, and several other Italian airs, in
which frequent allusion was made to the inconstancy of woman's and the
truth of man's affection. At every pause in the music these sentiments
were laughingly contested by Mrs. Barton. She appealed to Milord. He
never had had anything to complain of. Was it not well known that the
poor woman had been only too true to him? Finally, it was arranged there
should be a little dancing.

As Mrs. Barton said, it was of great importance to know if Olive knew
the right step, and who could put her up to all the latest fashions as
well as Milord? The old gentleman replied in French, and settled his
waistcoat, fearing the garment was doing him an injustice.

'But who is to play?' asked the poetical-looking Arthur, who, on the
highest point of the sofa, hummed and tuned his guitar after true
troubadour fashion.

'Alice will play us a waltz,' said Mrs. Barton winningly.

'Oh yes, Alice dear, play us a waltz,' cried Olive.

'You know how stupid I am; I can't play a note without my music, and it
is all locked up in my trunk upstairs.'

'It won't take you a minute to get it out,' said Mrs. Barton; and
moving, as if she were on wheels, towards her daughter, she whispered:
'Do as I tell you--run upstairs at once and get your music.'

She looked questioningly at her mother and hesitated. But Mrs. Barton
had a way of compelling obedience, and the girl went upstairs, to return
soon after with a roll of music. At the best of times she had little
love of the art, but now, sick with