t have known her in the least."

"Margaret is in India with her husband," answered Vaughan. "What are you
dreaming of? Where have you seen her?"

"I saw her in your chambers," answered the Warden, slowly. "I passed
three times yesterday, and she was sitting in the centre window each
time."

"Pshaw! You dreamt it in your sleep last night. Margaret's in Vellore, I
assure you."

"I saw her," said the Warden, softly; "or, at least, I saw some lady,
whom I naturally presumed to be your sister."

Ernest, who had not colored for fifteen years, and would have defied man
or woman to confuse him, flushed to his very temples.

"You are mistaken," he said, decidedly. "There is no woman in my rooms."

Eusebius raised his eyebrows, bent his head, smiled and sighed. More
polite disbelief was never expressed. The Miss Ruskinstones would have
blushed if they could; as they could not, they drew themselves bolt
upright, and put their parasols between them and the reprobate. Nina,
whose hand was still in Vaughan's arm, turned white, and flashed a
quick, upward look at him; then, with a glance at Eusebius, as fiery as
the eternal wrath that that dear divine was accustomed to deal out so
largely to other people, she led Ernest up to her father, who being
providentially somewhat deaf, had not heard this by-play, and said, to
her cousin's horror, "Papa, dear, Mr. Vaughan wants you to dine with him
at Tortoni's to-night, to meet M. de Vendanges. You will be very happy,
won't you?"

Ernest pressed her little hand against his side, and thanked her with
his eyes.

Gordon was propitiated for that day; he was not likely to quarrel with a
man who could introduce him to "Son Altesse Monseigneur le Duc de
Vendanges."

V.

MORE MISCHIEF--AND AN END.

In a little cabinet de peinture, in a house in the Place Vendome, apart
from all the other people, who having come to a dejeuner were now
dispersed in the music rooms, boudoirs, and conservatories, sat Madame
de Melusine, talking to Gordon, flatteringly, beguilingly,
bewitchingly, as that accomplished widow could. The banker found her
charming, and really, under her blandishments, began to believe, poor
old fellow, that she was in love with him!

"Ah! by-the-by, cher monsieur," began madame, when she had soft-soaped
him into a proper frame of mind, "I want to speak to you about that
mignonne Nina. You cannot tell, you cannot imagine, what interest I take
in her."

"You do her muc