e situation and had decided to give her neighbours
no cause for comment and to continue the festive life, as led in the
winter season on the Nile, until the return of her godmother; after
which she would, as soon as possible, shake the dust of the land of the
Pharaohs from off her feet.

In fact, so gay was she, so full of life and high spirits, that she
appeared to have forgotten her lover completely, thereby giving the
Thistleton family cause to congratulate themselves in the seclusion of
their bedrooms.

"I told you so, Mamma," had said Ellen, this night of the full moon, as
she had pondered before the mirror upon the effect a headache-bandeau
in the shape of a royal asp would have upon a certain retired colonel
who seemed inclined to find solace for his long widowhood _en secondes
noces_. "She evidently did not see Mr. Kelham and Sybil on the
sand-bank, and I honestly do not think she cares for him a bit."

"No," broke in Berenice, whose hair clung to her head like wet seaweed
to a rock; "I am sure she does not. Do you think if Ambrose had--had
courted me and then neglected me, that I could have danced and laughed
and------"

"Well, I'm thankful," broke in Mamma. "Looking after any girl as
beautiful and-----"

"Erratic," supplied Ellen, who had decided on the headache-bandeau.

"--erratic as Damaris, is certainly no------"

"Sinecure," supplied Berenice, who, in the fervour of her affection for
her herculean cleric, gave no thought to such trifles as head-dresses,
and not much to the rest of her attire.

Giving a final pat to her offsprings' toilettes, Mamma shepherded them
downstairs, tapping at Damaris's door as she passed, inviting her to
join them in the Winter-Garden, where they were going to sit and look
at the dresses, and watch the arrival of the guests from the less
select hotels.

Damaris looked radiantly beautiful as she stood for a moment at the
window of her godmother's sitting-room, into which she had gone to
fetch a fan.

True, her eyes looked over-big in the violet shadows that surrounded
them, and her cheek and collar-bones were unduly prominent, but then,
however well you hide the fox of uncertainty which tears at the vitals
of your common sense and sense of humour, you cannot completely hide
the outward signs of the inner agony which tortures you.

"You're a perfect picture, dearie!" said Jane Coop as she tied the
ribbons of the simple, heelless, white leather shoes in which the g