HEL WRITES ABOUT HER LOVERS.

What a dear fellow is Frank Jones. That was Rachel's first idea when
Lord Castlewell left her. It was an idea she had driven from out of
her mind with all the strength of which she was capable from the
moment in which his lordship had been accepted. "He never shall be
dear to me again," she had said, thinking of what would be due to
her husband; and she had disturbed herself, not without some success,
in expelling Frank Jones from her heart. It was not right that the
future Lady Castlewell should be in love with Frank Jones. But now
she could think about Frank Jones as she pleased. What a dear fellow
is Frank Jones! Now, it certainly was the case that Lord Castlewell
was not a dear fellow at all. He was many degrees better than Mr.
Moss, but for a dear fellow!--She only knew one. And she did tell
herself now that the world could hardly be a happy world to her
without one dear fellow,--at any rate, to think of.

But he had positively refused to marry her! But yet she did not in
the least doubt his love. "I'm a little bit of a thing," she said to
herself; "but then he likes little bits of things. At any rate, he
likes one."

And then she had thought ever so often over the cause which had
induced Frank to leave her. "Why shouldn't he take my money, since it
is here to be taken? It is all a man's beastly pride!" But then again
she contradicted the assertion to herself. It was a man's pride, but
by no means beastly. "If I were a man," she went on saying, "I don't
think I should like to pay for my coat and waistcoat with money which
a woman had earned; and I should like it the less, because things at
home, in my own house, were out of order." And then again she thought
of it all. "I should be an idiot to do that. Everybody would say so.
What! to give up my whole career for a young man's love,--merely that
I might have his arm round my waist? I to do it, who am the greatest
singer of my day, and who can, if I please, be Countess of Castlewell
to-morrow! That were losing the world for love, indeed! Can any man's
love be worth it? And I am going on to become such a singer as the
world does not possess another like me. I know it. I feel it daily in
the increasing sweetness of the music made. I see it in the wakeful
eagerness of men's ears, waiting for some charm of sound,--some
wonderful charm,--which they hardly dare to expect, but which always
comes at last. I see it in the eyes of the women,