Titian
and Raphael painted it. Has the Fornarina red hair? Why, we are at
Croydon, I declare!"

"The Fornarina"--the hat replies to the bonnet, "if that picture at the
Borghese Palace be an original, or a likeness of her--is not a
handsome woman, with vulgar eyes and mouth, and altogether a most
mahogany-coloured person. She is so plain, in fact, I think that very
likely it is the real woman; for it is with their own fancies that men
fall in love,--or rather every woman is handsome to the lover. You know
how old Helen must have been."

"I don't know any such thing, or anything about her. Who was Helen?"
asks the bonnet; and indeed she did not know.

"It's a long story, and such an old scandal now, that there is no use in
repeating it," says Clive.

"You only talk about Helen because you wish to turn away the
conversation from Miss Freeman," cries the young lady--"from Miss
Baliol, I mean."

"We will talk about whichever you please. Which shall we begin to pull
to pieces?" says Clive. You see, to be in this carriage--to be actually
with her--to be looking into those wonderful lucid eyes--to see
her sweet mouth dimpling, and hear her sweet voice ringing with its
delicious laughter--to have that hour and a half his own, in spite of
all the world-dragons, grandmothers, convenances, the future--made the
young fellow so happy, filled his whole frame and spirit with a delight
so keen, that no wonder he was gay, and brisk, and lively.

"And so you knew of my goings-on?" he asked. O me! they were at Reigate
by this time; there was Gatton Park flying before them on the wings of
the wind.

"I know of a number of things," says the bonnet, nodding with ambrosial
curls.

"And you would not answer the second letter I wrote to you?

"We were in great perplexity. One cannot be always answering young
gentlemen's letters. I had considerable doubt about answering a note
I got from Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square," says the lady's chapeau.
"No, Clive, we must not write to one another," she continued more
gravely, "or only very, very seldom. Nay, my meeting you here to-day is
by the merest chance, I am sure; for when I mentioned at Lady Fareham's
the other evening that I was going to see papa at Brighton to-day, I
never for one moment thought of seeing you in the train. But as you
are here, it can't be helped; and I may as well tell you that there are
obstacles."

"What, other obstacles?" Clive gasped out.

"Nonsense--you si