auty merely, but such
a noble-bred one! And to think that there she is in the market to
be knocked down to--I say, I was going to call that three-year-old,
Ethelinda.--We must christen her over again for Tattersall's, Georgy."

A knock is heard through an adjoining door, and a maternal voice cries,
"It is time to go to bed." So the brothers part, and, let us hope, sleep
soundly.

The Countess of Kew, meanwhile, has returned to Baden; where, though it
is midnight when she arrives, and the old lady has had two long bootless
journeys, you will be grieved to hear, that she does not sleep a single
wink. In the morning she hobbles over to the Newcome quarters; and Ethel
comes down to her pale and calm. How is her father? He has had a good
night: he is a little better, speaks more clearly, has a little more the
use of his limbs.

"I wish I had had a good night!" groans out the Countess.

"I thought you were going to Lord Kew, at Kehl," remarked her
granddaughter.

"I did go, and returned with wretches who would not bring me more than
five miles an hour! I dismissed that brutal grinning courier; and I have
given warning to that fiend of a maid."

"And Frank is pretty well, grandmamma?"

"Well! He looks as pink as a girl in her first season! I found him,
and his brother George, and their mamma. I think Maria was hearing them
their catechism," cries the old lady.

"N. and M. together! Very pretty," says Ethel, gravely. "George has
always been a good boy, and it is quite time for my Lord Kew to begin."

The elder lady looked at her descendant, but Miss Ethel's glance was
impenetrable. "I suppose you can fancy, my dear, why I came back?" said
Lady Kew.

"Because you quarrelled with Lady Walham, grandmamma. I think I have
heard that there used to be differences between you." Miss Newcome was
armed for defence and attack; in which cases we have said Lady Kew did
not care to assault her. "My grandson told me that he had written to
you," the Countess said.

"Yes: and had you waited but half an hour yesterday, you might have
spared me the humiliation of that journey."

"You--the humiliation--Ethel!"

"Yes, me," Ethel flashed out. "Do you suppose it is none to have me
bandied about from bidder to bidder, and offered for sale to a gentleman
who will not buy me? Why have you and all my family been so eager to get
rid of me? Why should you suppose or desire that Lord Kew should like
me? Hasn't he the Opera; and such friends