anything
should come of my plan--as I fervently hope there may--I shall stipulate
that the engagement lasts two years. During that time I shall trust to
the influence of love to change my niece's character."

It was only a fresh complication--one from which Miss Hastings did not
expect much.

That same day, during dinner, Sir Oswald told his niece of the expected
arrival of Captain Langton.

"I have seen so few English gentlemen," she remarked, "that he will be a
subject of some curiosity to me."

"You will find him--that is, if he resembles his father--a high-bred,
noble gentleman," said Sir Oswald, complacently.

"Is he clever?" she asked. "What does he do?"

"Do!" repeated Sir Oswald. "I do not understand you."

"Does he paint pictures or write books?"

"Heaven forbid!" cried Sir Oswald, proudly. "He is a gentleman."

Her face flushed hotly for some minutes, and then the flush died away,
leaving her paler than ever.

"I consider artists and writers gentlemen," she retorted--"gentlemen of
a far higher stamp than those to whom fortune has given money and nature
has denied brains."

Another time a sharp argument would have resulted from the throwing down
of such a gantlet. Sir Oswald had something else in view, so he allowed
the speech to pass.

"It will be a great pleasure for me to see my old friend's son again,"
he said. "I hope, Pauline, you will help me to make his visit a pleasant
one."

"What can I do?" she asked, brusquely.

"What a question!" laughed Sir Oswald. "Say, rather, what can you not
do? Talk to him, sing to him. Your voice is magnificent, and would give
any one the greatest pleasure. You can ride out with him."

"If he is a clever, sensible man, I can do all that you mention; if not,
I shall not trouble myself about him. I never could endure either
tiresome or stupid people."

"My young friend is not likely to prove either," said Sir Oswald,
angrily; and Miss Hastings wondered in her heart what the result of it
all would be.

That same evening Miss Darrell talked of Captain Langton, weaving many
bright fancies concerning him.

"I suppose," she said, "that it is not always the most favorable
specimens of the English who visit Paris. We used to see such droll
caricatures. I like a good caricature above all things--do you, Miss
Hastings?"

"When it is good, and pains no one," was the sensible reply.

The girl turned away with a little impatient sigh.

"Your ideas are all colo