ed a life such as to
render them sensitive to the lack of fine edges in others, and were
quite ready to be courted by those who gave the meed of appreciation
that both regarded as Arthurine's just portion.

Mr. Mytton had been in India, and had come back to look after an old
relation; to whom he and his wife had paid assiduous attention, and
had been so rewarded as to excite the suspicion and displeasure of
the rest of the family. The prize had not been a great one, and the
prosperity of the family was further diminished by the continual
failures of the ne'er-do-well sons, so that they had to make the
best of the dull, respectable old house they had inherited, in the
dull, respectable old street of the dull, respectable old town.
Daisy and Pansy Mytton were, however, bright girls, and to them
Arthurine Arthuret was a sort of realised dream of romance, raised
suddenly to the pinnacle of all to which they had ever durst aspire.

After meeting her at a great OMNIUM GATHERUM garden party, the
acquaintance flourished. Arthurine was delighted to give the
intense pleasure that the freedom of a country visit afforded to the
sisters, and found in them the contemporaries her girl nature had
missed.

They were not stupid, though they had been poorly educated, and were
quite willing to be instructed by her and to read all she told them.
In fact, she was their idol, and a very gracious one. Deeply did
they sympathise in all her sufferings from the impediments cast in
her way at Stokesley.

Indeed, the ladies there did not meet her so often on their own
ground for some time, and were principally disturbed by reports of
her doings at Bonchamp, where she played at cricket, and at hockey,
gave a course of lectures on physiology, presided at a fancy-dress
bazaar for the schools as Lady Jane Grey, and was on two or three
committees. She travelled by preference on her tricycle, though she
had a carriage, chiefly for the sake of her mother, who was still in
a state of fervent admiration, even though perhaps a little worried
at times by being hurried past her sober paces.

The next shock that descended on Stokesley was that, in great
indignation, a cousin sent the Merrifields one of those American
magazines which are read and contributed to by a large proportion of
English. It contained an article called 'The Bide-as-we-bes and
parish of Stick-stodge-cum-Cadgerley,' and written with the same
sort of clever, flippant irony as the