in the most accurate keeping
with that assumed air of seclusion by which fine ladies compliment the
visitor fortunate enough to be admitted to their presence, Lady Hester
sat at a window, occasionally looking from the deep lace that bordered
her handkerchief to the picturesque scene of mountain and river that lay
before her. A fastidious taste might have found something to be pleased
with in either, but assuredly her handsome features evinced no agreeable
emotion, and her expression was that of utter ennui and listlessness.

At another window sat Sydney Onslow drawing; her brother standing behind
her chair, and from time to time adding his counsels, but in a tone
studiously low and whispered. "Get that shadow in something deeper, Syd,
and you 'll have more effect in the distance."

"What is that I hear about effect and distance?" sighed out my Lady.
"You surely are not drawing?"

"Only sketching; making a hurried note of that wheel, and the quaint
old-fashioned house beside it," said Sydney, diffidently.

"What a refinement of cruelty! The detestable noise of that mill kept
me awake all night, and you mean to perpetuate the remembrance by a
picture. Pray, be a good child and throw it out of the window."

Sydney looked up in her brother's face, where already a crimson flush of
anger was gathering, but before she could reply he spoke for her. "The
drawing is for me, Lady Onslow. You 'll. excuse me if I do not consent
to the fate you propose for it."

"Let me look at it," said she, languidly; and the young girl arose
and presented the drawing to her. "How droll!" said she, laughing; "I
suppose it is peculiar to Germany that water can run up hill."

"The shadow will correct that," said Sydney, smiling; "and when
the foreground is darker." A violent slam of the door cut short the
explanation. It was George Onslow, who, too indignant at the practised
impertinence toward his sister, dashed out of the room in a passion.

"How underbred your brother will persist in being, my love," said she,
calmly; "that vile trick of slamming a door, they learn, I 'm told,
in the Guards' Club. I 'm sure I always thought it was confined to the
melodrames one sees at the Porte St. Martin."

At this moment a servant appeared at the door. "Colonel Haggerstone's
compliments, my Lady, and begs to know how Sir Stafford is to-day."

"Something better," replied she, curtly; and as the man disappeared, she
added, "Whose compliments did he say?