hings ought to be done. Marcia would have managed all that
splendidly--she'd have had everything new throughout--Americans are so
quick, and there's no nonsensical antiquated sentiment about Marcia."

"She might even have had new pictures and done away with the old ones,"
observed Mr. Marvelle, with a feeble attempt at satire. His wife darted
a keen look at him, but smiled a little too. She was not without a sense
of humor.

"Nonsense, Montague! She knows the value of works of art better than
many a so-called connoisseur. I won't have you make fun of her. Poor
girl! She _did_ speculate on Bruce-Errington,--you know he was very
attentive to her, at that ball I gave just before he went off to
Norway."

"He certainly seemed rather amused by her," said Mr. Marvelle. "Did she
take it to heart when she heard he was married?"

"I should think not," replied Mrs. Marvelle loftily. "She has too much
sense. She merely said, 'All right! I must stick to Masherville!'"

Mr. Marvelle nodded blandly. "Admirable,--admirable!" he murmured, with
a soft little laugh, "A _very_ clever girl--a very bright creature! And
really there are worse fellows than Masherville! The title is old."

"Yes, the title is all very well," retorted his wife--"but there's no
money--or at least very little."

"Marcia has sufficient to cover any deficit?" suggested Mr. Marvelle, in
a tone of meek inquiry.

"An American woman _never_ has sufficient," declared Mrs. Marvelle. "You
know that as well as I do. And poor dear Mrs. Van Clupp has so set her
heart on a really brilliant match for her girl--and I had positively
promised she should have Bruce-Errington. It is really too bad!" And
Mrs. Marvelle paced the room with a stately, sweeping movement, pausing
every now and then to glance at herself approvingly in the mirror above
the chimney-piece, while her husband resumed his perusal of the _Times_.
By-and-by she said abruptly--

"Montague!"

Mr. Marvelle dropped his paper with an alarmed air.

"My dear!"

"I shall go to Clara Winsleigh this morning--and see what she means to
do in the matter. Poor Clara! She must be disgusted at the whole
affair!"

"She had rather a liking for Errington, hadn't she?" inquired Mr.
Marvelle, folding up the _Times_ in a neat parcel, preparatory to taking
it with him in order to read it in peace on his way to the Law Courts.

"Liking? Well!" And Mrs. Marvelle, looking at herself once more in the
glass, carefully arrang