ed vexed--Mrs.
Marvelle bewildered.

"Do you think," inquired this latter, "she can really be so wonderfully
lovely?"

"No, I don't!" answered Clara snappishly. "I dare say she's a plump
creature with a high color--men like fat women with brick-tinted
complexions--they think it's healthy. Helen of Troy indeed! Pooh! Lennie
must be crazy."

The rest of their drive was very silent,-they were both absorbed in
their own reflections. On arriving at the Van Clupps', they found no one
at home--not even Marcia--so Lady Winsleigh drove her "dearest Mimsey"
back to her own house in Kensington, and there left her with many
expressions of tender endearment--then, returning home, proceeded to
make an elaborate and brilliant toilette for the enchantment and
edification of Sir Francis Lennox that evening. She dined alone, and was
ready for her admirer when he called for her in his private hansom, and
drove away with him to the theatre, where she was the cynosure of many
eyes; meanwhile her husband, Lord Winsleigh, was pressing a good-night
kiss on the heated forehead of an excited boy, who, plunging about in
his little bed and laughing heartily, was evidently desirous of
emulating the gambols of the clown who had delighted him that afternoon
at Hengler's.

"Papa! could you stand on your head and shake hands with your foot?"
demanded this young rogue, confronting his father with towzled curls and
flushed cheeks.

Lord Winsleigh laughed. "Really, Ernest, I don't think I could!" he
answered good-naturedly. "Haven't you talked enough about the circus by
this time? I thought you were ready for sleep, otherwise I should not
have come up to say good-night."

Ernest studied the patient, kind features of his father for a moment,
and then slipped penitently under the bedclothes, settling his restless
young head determinedly on the pillow.

"I'm all right now!" he murmured, with a demure, dimpling smile. Then,
with a tender upward twinkle of his merry blue eyes, he added,
"Good-night, papa dear! God bless you!"

A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Lord Winsleigh's
countenance as he bent once more over the little bed, and pressed his
bearded lips lightly on the boy's fresh cheek, as cool and soft as a
rose-leaf.

"God bless you, little man!" he answered softly, and there was a slight
quiver in his calm voice. Then he put out the light and left the room,
closing the door after him with careful noiselessness. Descendin