To say this is to possess a charming, refined nature, even when saying disagreeable things. This was Mrs. Tudor's style of flattery.

She called herself old; and she was very old, even for the city of sempiternelles where she lived; but she held old age at bay more stoutly, I really believe, than any other woman of her age extant. She was a model of good making-up. I can never see the justice of condemning, wholesale, all women who paint. Condemn them utterly if they paint badly; but give homage due to all successful works of real art. Mrs. Tudor was extraordinarily well done. Her hair was a dark irongrey, not any of those blacks and chesnuts that every shifting light can convert into prisms of red, green, and purple; her eyebrows were marked by one dark yet perfectly delicate line; her cheeks bore the faintest roseate tinge that the genius of Paris (assisted by after processes of her own) could supply; her teeth, her figure, were all triumphs of imitative art. The most difficult part of the picture, and one in which so many inferior artists fail, the old, wrinkled, sapless hands were never shown without gloves. I repeat it, Mrs. Tudor was well done; and whether she, or Wilson, or the mere artificers from whence her charms came in gross, possessed the greater genius, I hold that the result of so much thought, and choice, and patient, unfaltering every-day labour, was a thing to be respected.

But cultivation is required for all high taste in art. When Esther Fleming first found herself again in Mrs. Tudor's presence, the vision of a painted and galvanized corpse tottering forward to meet her with deathly sprightliness came upon her with even more awful clearness than it had used to do when she was a child. All the painful processes by which Mrs. Tudor's rejuvenescence had been won-the dentistry, the dyeing, the daily paddings and powderings and paintings for well-nigh half a century, were mysteries too occult for Esther's mind to unravel, or even marvel over. She liked her Aunt Engleheart's face, white and still as death it

self: all passion and unrest quenched out of it by long years of poverty and Miss Joan. She liked to see that old face, with the venerable white hair and little close-frilled cap, as the evening light fell on it through the branches of the thorn-tree by the porch; to see the folded withered hands lying peacefully at rest; the whole little, worn, bent form just as though waiting, patient and quiescent, for death to come. This was the poetry of extreme, helpless old age; and Esther often at such times had spoken under her breath, half in awe of the frail, still life so barely withheld from the final stillness of death itself. But Mrs. Tudor! Mrs. Tudor, sprightly and roseate and alert! All the girl's old childish horror of something coming off' rushed across her mind as she remembered she would have to kiss Mrs. Tudor's cheek; and every one of the little affectionate speeches she had been preparing on her journey forsook her memory.

Aunt Thalia's warmth of heart was equal, however, to all occasions -even domestic ones. Esther, my dear, dear child!' and then, much to Esther's relief, the greatest difficulty of meeting was got over by Mrs. Tudor herself depositing a very long but circumspect kiss upon her cheek. So grown I should scarce have recognized you! Wilson, has not Miss Fleming grown? Two shillings for bringing you from the railway? Certainly not. Esther, love, I insist upon your not paying more than eighteen-pence; and let him carry up Miss Fleming's luggage to her apartment before he's paid. Wilson, the small upper

room that faces the sea. I knew my dear niece would not mind mounting a little high,' she whispered to Esther, as Wilson, very rustling and dignified, marched out of the room. 'Yon princess in black silk would have been sour to me for a month if I had dared dispossess her of hers; and my dear Esther's little feet are too young to know whether they run up one or two flights of stairs at a time.'

Mrs. Tudor embraced her again, but without more kisses: these risks were only incurred under the

indispensable press of affection at coming and going: and then Esther remarked that she did not care at all where she slept, and would be very sorry indeed to put Wilson out in any way.

'And how is my dear sister? Sit down, my love, and unloose your bonnet-strings. How is my dear sister Cecilia? You wouldn't have a glass of wine, Esther, after your journey, now-would you?'

'Oh, no! Aunt Thalia. I never take wine.'

You

'Dear child! so natural! are very little altered, love, except in height. I take an early dinner, you must know, Esther; my doctor here desires it, and so I obey, but it breaks in upon my habits sadly; then about seven I drink tea. Now what will you have?' Mrs. Tudor looked extraordinarily genial and hospitable. What will you have? They can get you a chop in a minute.' And she stretched her hand out, figuratively, towards the bell.

'I would much rather have nothing but tea,' said Esther. 'I am not hungry-I mean not very—I had my dinner on the road.'

'Now, do you mean it, my love? do you positively mean it? I will never forgive you if you don't make yourself perfectly at home while you are with me. Well, then, we will have tea at once. And, Wilson,' to that potentate, who had now re-entered the room, bid Mrs. Sims send up the cold duck, if you please; it will be just the thing for my niece after her long journey. Wilson will take you to your room, Esther. I would go myself, only that my good doctor tells me I must refrain as much as possible from walking upstairs.'

And then Mrs. Wilson, condescendingly bland, but still with the kind of manner which she, as a servant, naturally felt to Esther as a poor relation, conducted her to her room on the third floor-a threecornered apartment with a sloping roof, a bed the size of a coffin, and a window from whence you had a very nice side-view of the sea if you sat upon the floor.

'You find your aunt a good deal

changed, no doubt, Miss Fleming?' remarked the lady's-maid, fidgeting about the strings of one of Esther's cases, but obviously only giving herself a pretext to stop and talk. 'Even I, that am with her constant, can see it only too plain. She's pitched away extraordinary the last three months, miss.'

Esther could see no particular change, she answered. She thought, perhaps, that her Aunt Thalia's was not a face to show illness much.

'Perhaps so,' said Wilson, drily. 'Appearances are deceitful; but then you must remember I see missus at all times, Miss Fleming. Thinner! Why, bless you, she's gone away to half what she were before her last attack. I've took in all her dresses without her knowing it; and she thinks, sometimes, she's getting stout again, and tells the doctors so; but I know better. I wish some of them, or some one belonging to her, would tell her a little truth about her health, Miss Fleming, and then, perhaps, she wouldn't kill herself-dressing and racketing and sitting up late at night as she do-kill herself, and I may truly say, kill all those who have to wait upon her too!'

Mrs. Wilson pressed her hand with much feeling upon the region of her left lung, and laid her head on one side with a sigh. It was evident that to her own mind her twenty-five pounds a year were no equivalent whatever to the disadvantages of being in Mrs. Tudor's intimate employ and favour.

'What sort of illness has she had?' she proceeded, when Esther had inquired into the nature of her mistress's last attack; 'why, you don't mean to say your aunt never wrote you word that she'd had a stroke?'

'A stroke!' interrupted Esther, looking grave and shocked. 'Oh, Wilson! you surely can't mean?”

'Yes, I do, miss. I mean a stroke of paralysis. I lived with the old Countess of Davenport up to her death, and I knew directly I saw your aunt's face she was going to be taken like her ladyship. She was a mistress, if you like, Miss Fleming. Thirty-six pounds a year

and the best of perquisites, and a under maid kept on purpose to set up and unlace the dresses at night; because her ladyship said from the first, "Mrs. Wilson," her ladyship says to me, "I see that your 'ealth's delicate, and

'And Aunt Thalia, Wilson? Please tell me about Aunt Thalia's illness.'

'Well, Miss Fleming, it was after an At Home at our own house; and missus and me was putting away some of the ornaments, when she cried out, suddent, "Wilson!" and tottered back a step or two, and fell on the sofa-so!' And Mrs. Wilson went through a little impromptu rehearsal, with great gusto, upon the coffin bed. I knew what it was in a minute, miss-the thick way of speaking, and dull eyes, and stiff hands, and all the rest of itand I got her undressed; and Miss Whitty, the-the person who lodges underneath us, you know-sent for the doctor. And he knew what it was, Miss Fleming, just as well as I did; and Mrs. Tudor, she knew what it was, too; but we made light of the whole matter; and none of us ever called the attack by its right name, and we don't now. When missus speaks about it, she says, "That time I was a little faint and giddy, you know, Wilson." And I say the same; and so must you, of course, if your aunt should happen to mention it.'

'And Aunt Thalia goes out to parties as much as ever?' cried Esther. 'How can she care about them after such a fearful warning?' "Ah!' ejaculated Mrs. Wilson, piously, and suddenly remembering the pain above her heart.

'Ah!

there's no saying what those that belongs to this world wouldn't do to escape out of themselves and their own tempers and fancies! I agreed to accept your aunt's situation on the highest of recommendations, Miss Fleming. The Dean of Sarum's lady (who has known me since I was that high, and all my family, too) begged me herself to take it; and though I had never lived out of the first of establishments before, I was willing to do so because of all your aunt said about my having my

time to myself. Time! why, I'd sooner live with the Countess of Davenport again on half the wages, and wait on the three young ladies besides, than be where I am, Miss Fleming. Morning, noon, and night, I haven't a moment to myself: your aunt wants a nurse, miss, as well as a maid. And though I'd do as much as my strength allowed for a fellow-creature '-Mrs. Wilson assumed the air of a trampled but forgiving martyr- a fellow-creature in real illness, I don't consider myself called upon to set up o' nights for people that are out at routs and card-parties, and then to have to make their sick-messes, and carry their air-cushion, and put up with their humours by day! Not without extra wages, Miss Fleming! I read my Bible, and I hope I perform my 'umble duties as a Christian, but I know what service is.'

And this is the woman we have been told is such a treasure,' thought Esther, when Mrs. Wilson, after this little exposition of her opinions respecting her own worth, had left her alone. Her great, lonely, fine-furnished rooms, and this woman, with her heartlessness and discontent, are the nearest approach to a home that Aunt Thalia has. I am glad to think Mrs. Engleheart will die poor and quiet and unpretending at Countisbury, and have Joan, with all her faults, to wait upon her to the last.'

She felt her heart almost warm towards Mrs. Tudor when she joined her again down stairs. There was something within her that instinctively recognized and respected the courage of this old woman of the world in neither shrinking from, nor seeking sympathy under, the dark shadow that had fallen upon her. If it was courage wrongly shown (cards, rouge, parties, instead of calm meditation and solemn retrospect), it was courage still; the same stout nerve that had upheld Joan Engleheart during so many years of unpitied, unassisted poverty; the same strong, enduring power that, simple and youthful though she was, lay dormant in Esther's own breast. Yes, she looked at the old bland face that

had met the forerunner of a fearful death just with the same well-bred insouciance it would have shown to any other disagreeable but unavoidable visitor, and, for the first time in her life, felt that she and Mrs. Tudor were of one kin.

'You distress me, my love, by eating so little. Really you ought to have something more substantial after your long journey-a poached egg, now? You are quite sure? I meant you to have some cold duck, and, oh, my dear Esther! what do you think?'

Esther, of course, expressed her inability to have any idea what

ever.

'I asked the woman of the house to send it up, and she informed me my maid had eaten it for her own early tea-the whole of one wing, and some delicious slices on the back. And she knows that if there's one thing more than another that is likely to tempt me it's a morsel of cold duck.'

Esther laughed. Wilson knows what is likely to tempt herself, no doubt,' she remarked. Most servants do.'

'She is,' Mrs. Tudor lowered her voice, and looked with meaning (as confidential persons upon the stage invariably look round, but fail to see the infernal villain crouched under the pasteboard portico, at least two yards and a half from their side) towards the door: 'she is the greediest, the falsest, the most rapacious, odious woman that I verily believe ever drew breath, even amidst servants. I keep her because the Dean of Sarum's wife recommended her, and because she understands her business, and does not rob me very outrageously; but her appetite! Oh, my dear child! I often think what I have to go through at the hands of all my maids is my punishment, in the flesh, for caring about worldly vanities in my old age. And, speaking of vanities, where did you have that dress made you have on?--not in the wilds of Devonshire, I am sure.'

'Yes, Aunt Thalia, in the wilds of Devonshire. Joan and I made it from the pattern of the white one I

had at school.'

'Ah, dear, good Joan!' remarked Mrs. Tudor, evidently just remembering her niece's existence. 'Dear, good, useful, industrious Joan! how is she? and my sister? You have not told me one word yet, love, as to how my dear sister is looking?'

'Aunt Engleheart never seems to change, to me,' answered Esther. 'She looks just as weak and pale and quiet as she did when I first went to Countisbury; but she can dress herself still; and twice this summer she has walked to church and back.'

'Poor dear Cecilia! She was never very strong. I should like extremely to go and see her if I could; but I am afraid the excitement would be too much for her. We were always so passionately attached to each other!" They had not met, or sought to meet, for the last twenty years. She was blonde, you know, and I brune; and the difference in age used not to show then as it must now. Blondes always fade all at once when they do fade. That is a dédommagement to dark women, my love; for, looking old when they are young, they wear better when the first beauté du diable is over. How old are you, Esther? I forget-fifteen, sixteen? Which is it?'

'Oh, Aunt Thalia! I am past eighteen. And Joan and David both think I look two or three years older than that.'

'David! What is David? Whom are you talking of, child? I thought you had no acquaintance among those savage Devonshire wilds.'

'But David Engleheart, ma'am; my cousin David!'

Never say "ma'am" again, Esther, I beg. It does not sound vulgar from you, but it is old-fashioned and provincial. Call me your Aunt Tudor, or your Aunt Thalia, or even Mrs. Tudor, but never ma'am. Will you remember?'

'Yes, Aunt Thalia.'

'And now, if you have really caten as much as you wish, love' (Esther had eaten nothing), 'we will go and finish our chat by the open window. Yes, sit on the footstool. I like to see you so; the pose is gcod. Put your left arm a little

lower, and turn your face up towards me. That is right. Do you know you are really very like your great-grandfather? You have just poor dear Garratt's eyes, but you have not the family chin. There you are a Vincent. Your poor mother was a pretty little woman, but without the slightest style. Do you remember her?'

'Only a little,' answered Esther. 'I remember she was very white and tired-looking, and hardly ever took me in her arms or had me in the sitting-room to play with her; but that is all. I remember my father much the best.'

'Quite right, my dear Esther; quite right. Your mother's family were very nice people-very nice people indeed in their own way; but there is no occasion for us to remember them. I am glad to find you growing up such a complete Fleming. When I saw you last I was really distressed about your voice and manners, but you have immensely improved now. School has softened you down.'

'I am glad you think so,' said Esther. I was afraid I learnt very little for all the money it cost. I am not brilliant, Aunt Thalia. Years ago I used to think I should be a genius, able to write books and do all sorts of things. I rate my own abilities much more truly

now.'

'I did not send you to school to learn lessons, Esther, but to acquire style and manner. You have learnt quite enough, I have no doubt, with Joan at home. What you want now is to know how to hide your learning and be agreeable in the world. Men don't like clever women; always remember that. Softness, liveliness, grace, are the qualities you must strive after.'

Esther thought of Oliver, of her never-ceasing, uneasy sense of her own superiority to him, and sighed. 'I am sure you are right there,' she remarked. I often wish I was more soft and yielding than I am.'

Then you wish a very foolish thing, let me tell you, Esther,' said Mrs. Tudor. Seem as soft as you choose, but thank Providence for having made you really strong.

You will want all your strength some day, depend upon it. A graceful, feminine manner, and perfect reliance in herself are what a young woman needs to obtain success in society.'

'I don't care a bit for success in society. I wish to have real success -I mean I wish to be really loveable.'

Mrs. Tudor looked hard at her great-niece's candid, flushed face, and laughed. You are full of sentiment, I can see,' she observed, in spite of Joan having had you in her hands so long. Wait until you have seen a little more of the world, and you will become like the other young people of this generationlike your friends the Miss Dashwoods, for example. I wonder knowing them has not put all romantic fancies out of your head!'

But Jane ought to be very romantic just now.' Esther felt somewhat conscience-stricken as she put forth this remark. 'I suppose you know she is engaged?'

'To whom?'

'To-to Mr. Chichester, I believe. I know nothing of him.'

'What are you getting red for, child?'

'I am sure I don't know, Aunt Thalia. It is a dreadfully foolish habit of mine. I-I do wish I could get over it,' Miss Fleming added, indignantly, and then she blushed crimson indeed.

'No sign of modesty looks ill in a young person,' said Mrs. Tudor, complacently. As long as you are under twenty no one will think worse of you for blushing, and you will find it a habit that time soon cures. Who told you Jane Dashwood was to marry Paul Chichester?"

'Her sister Millicent. She speaks of it in all her letters as a regular engagement. Colonel Dashwood lets Mr. Chichester come to the house as often as he chooses.'

'Colonel Dashwood lets most unmarried men do that, Esther; and in the rare cases where he does not, the Miss Dashwoods save their lovers any trouble by meeting them elsewhere. I have seen a good many of Miss Dashwood's flirtations