he fresh air of the morning."

A little later, and the two ladies passed into the Park by the Albert
Gate, and made their way to the High Change of gossip of fashionable
London. A bright fresh spring morning filled the Row to overflowing.
It was thronged, as it always is on a fine day after Easter.
Fashionable London comes to see who of its acquaintances may be in
town; and numberless parties and plans for the future are sketched out
on these occasions. As for Mrs. Wriothesley's acquaintance, their name
was legion. Everybody seemed to know her; and that she was popular was
evident from the numbers who stopped to speak to her. They had not
been long installed in their chairs before Sylla perceived Mr. Cottrell
lounging towards them, and pointed him out to her aunt.

"Ah," exclaimed Mrs. Wriothesley, "I must signal him as soon as he gets
within range. I want to speak to him. I should like to hear his
account of your Todborough party."

"Do," replied Sylla, laughing. "He is my fellow-conspirator, remember,
though I don't suppose he will confess anything. It's delicious to see
the utterly unconscious way in which he will upset people's schemes. I
used really at first to think he did it innocently, but I soon
discovered it was _malice prepense_."

"Yes, I know Pansey Cottrell very well. He is very mischievous; though
not malicious, unless you interfere with his personal comfort; rather
given to playing tricks upon his fellow-creatures; but he is more of a
Puck than a Mephistopheles.--Good morning, Mr. Cottrell. Pray come and
give an account of yourself. Sylla tells me you have been passing
Easter with the Bloxams."

"Quite so," replied that gentleman, as he raised his hat. "Miss Sylla
and I have been dedicating our poor talents to the amusement of Lady
Mary's guests, and to the furtherance of Lady Mary's plans. I am sure
she was much delighted at all the dancing and theatricals we inveigled
her into. I presume," he continued, turning to Sylla, "that you have
seen her since your arrival in town."

"Not yet," returned the girl. "She told me, you know, at Todborough,
that she and my aunt moved in somewhat different sets."

"Which is hardly the case, as you know," interrupted Mrs. Wriothesley.
"What do you suppose she meant by that?"

"I?" replied Cottrell. "My dear Mrs. Wriothesley, I never pretend to
understand what a woman means by doubtful speech of any kind. Our
masculine understandings are a grea