the
offending missive into the foolish little river and broke into vigorous
and ungraceful language with regard to the writer.

"Hush, hush!" cried Margaret, in deep distress. "She is my sister, and
she could not know how much it meant to me."

"Of course not! And what did it matter to her that I must go hungry and
thirsty all these years, cursing the whole of womankind because you had
tricked me!"

"Oh, why did you distrust me?" exclaimed she sorrowfully, leaning back
against the holly arbour in which they had sheltered, and bursting into
downright weeping.

"What an amiable desire you evince to throw the fault on me, Margaret,"
and he drew her hands from her face very gently; "must there be tears
now that I have found you again? Forgive me, dear. I was worse than a
fool to doubt you, but now we will leave room for no more possibilities
of trouble and parting. I am going to find out that other poor
distrusted beggar, your friend Ailie's lover, and let him know what you
women accuse him of, and when I come back, we shall see!"

"See what?" gasped Margaret.

"What we shall see!" he returned, triumphantly.

* * * * *

"Awfully sorry to have been late for dinner, Mrs. Hart," said Mr.
Ratcliff, without the least appearance of distress, when he joined the
ladies in the drawing-room; "I was unavoidably detained. By the way,
your party is not for another month, I think?"

"No," she replied, wondering why her handsome friend looked so gleefully
mischievous. "I have fixed upon the thirtieth; I do not want to clash
with Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Clarence."

"Then I am commissioned to tell you that you may invite all the Misses
Mildmay, without the least inconvenience. Miss Mildmay the undesirable
will not be in a position to accept your invitation. It is anticipated
that she will then be on her wedding tour as Mrs. Mark Ratcliff."

"Good gracious! How sudden!" exclaimed Mrs. Hart, opening her pretty
blue eyes to their widest extent; and for the life of her she could not
help adding under her breath, "And she so very unattractive!"

MADEMOISELLE ELISE.

BY EDWARD FRANCIS.

I.

M. Lorman, director of the Theatre Royal, Rocheville, stood at a window
of Mademoiselle Elise's apartment that looked on the Rue Murillo, Paris.
His gloves were drawn on, he carried his hat and stick, and he waited
impatiently--now smoothing his grey moustache, now looking at his watch,
now tapping his wel