ked almost anxiously;
"never cease to think of me kindly?"

"How fanciful you are to-night, Zara dear!" I said. "As if I COULD
forget you! I shall always think of you as the loveliest and sweetest
woman in the world."

"And when I am out of the world--what then?" she pursued.

Remembering her spiritual sympathies, I answered at once:

"Even then I shall know you to be one of the fairest of the angels. So
you see, Zara darling, I shall always love you."

"I think you will," she said meditatively; "you are one of us. But
come! I hear voices downstairs. I think our expected guests have
arrived, and we must be in the drawing-room to receive them. Good-bye,
little friend!" And she again kissed me.

"Good-bye!" I repeated in astonishment; "why 'good-bye'?"

"Because it is my fancy to say the word," she replied with quiet
firmness. "Again, dear little friend, good-bye!"

I felt bewildered, but she would not give me time to utter another
syllable. She took my hand and hurried me with her downstairs, and in
another moment we were both in the drawing-room, receiving and saying
polite nothings to the Everards and Challoners, who had all arrived
together, resplendent in evening costume. Amy Everard, I thought,
looked a little tired and fagged, though she rejoiced in a superb
"arrangement" by Worth of ruby velvet and salmon-pink. But, though a
perfect dress is consoling to most women, there are times when even
that fails of its effect; and then Worth ceases to loom before the
feminine eye as a sort of demi-god, but dwindles insignificantly to the
level of a mere tailor, whose prices are ruinous. And this, I think,
was the state of mind in which Mrs. Everard found herself that evening;
or else she was a trifle jealous of Zara's harmonious grace and
loveliness. Be this as it may, she was irritable, and whisperingly
found fault with, me for being in such good health.

"You will have too much colour if you don't take care," she said almost
pettishly, "and nothing is so unfashionable."

"I know!" I replied with due meekness. "It is very bad style to be
quite well--it is almost improper."

She looked at me, and a glimmering smile lighted her features. But she
would not permit herself to become good-humoured, and she furled and
unfurled her fan of pink ostrich feathers with some impatience.

"Where did that child get all those pearls from?" she next inquired,
with a gesture of her head towards Zara.

"They belonged to her m