blow bubbles!" said Norman.

"That is too intellectual, as papa makes it," said Ethel. "By the bye,
Norman," she added, as she had now walked with him a little apart, "it
always was a bubble of mine that you should try for the Newdigate prize.
Ha!" as the colour rushed into his cheeks, "you really have begun!"

"I could not help it, when I heard the subject given out for next year.
Our old friend, Decius Mus."

"Have you finished?"

"By no means, but it brought a world of notions into my head, such as I
could not but set down. Now, Ethel, do oblige me, do write another, as
we used in old times."

"I had better not," said Ethel, standing thoughtful. "If I throw
myself into it, I shall hate everything else, and my wits will be
woolgathering. I have neither time nor poetry enough."

"You used to write English verse."

"I was cured of it."

"How?"

"I wanted money for Cocksmoor, and after persuading papa, I got leave
to send a ballad about a little girl and a white rose to that school
magazine. I don't think papa liked it, but there were some verses that
touched him, and one had seen worse. It was actually inserted, and I was
in high feather, till, oh, Norman! imagine Richard getting hold of this
unlucky thing, without a notion where it came from! Margaret put it
before him, to see what he would say to it."

"I am afraid it was not like a young lady's anonymous composition in a
story."

"By no means. Imagine Ritchie picking my poor metaphors to pieces, and
weighing every sentimental line! And all in his dear old simplicity,
because he wanted to understand it, seeing that Margaret liked it. He
had not the least intention of hurting my feelings, but never was I
so annihilated! I thought he was doing it on purpose, till I saw how
distressed he was when he found it out; and worse than all was, his
saying at the end that he supposed it was very fine, but he could not
understand it."

"Let me see it."

"Some time or other; but let me see Decius."

"Did you give up verses because Richard could not understand them?"

"No; because I had other fish to fry. And I have not given them up
altogether. I do scrabble down things that tease me by running in my
head, when I want to clear my brains, and know what I mean; but I
can't do it without sitting up at night, and that stupefies me before
breakfast. And as to making bubbles of them, Ritchie has cured me of
that!"

"It is a pity!" said Norman.

"Nonsense, let me