you, Jane,' said Milly, as Esther hesitated, visibly. 'You know you always predicted that they would like each other amazingly at first sight-elective affinity, and all that. Don't be jealous, now, if your own prophecies turn out to be true ones. Esther thinks him a great deal too good to be wasted on such a very remarkable description of engagement as yours.'

I think I know scarcely anything of Mr. Chichester,' said Esther. 'I should say he was not a man to be judged of after a single day's acquaintance.'

Nor after many days' acquaintance,' added Jane. 'I have watched him pretty closely through a good many of his moods, and I verily believe I know him less now than I did on the first day I ever saw him.'

And yet you must have had singularly good opportunities of judging of his character,' remarked Miss Fleming, with emphasis.

Yes, better than if our engagement had been a real one. I see you know all about it; and I must say it was base of Paul to be the first to tell you. When people are really engaged, they, of course, never speak or look at each other without acting-their state necessitates it. Now Paul with me has been as open as with an ordinary friend-more so, perhaps, from the very fact of our sham engagement shutting out the possibility of misconstruction on either side.'

'But surely Mr. Chichester must be the last man living to fear misconstruction, Miss Dashwood. As he openly proclaims the impossibility of his ever marrying, there cannot be danger for any one, however intimate with him.'

'Who told you that Mr. Chichester was never going to marry?' 'Mr. Chichester himself.'

power to stir her heart so strangely.

I mean, nothing that could be put into actual words. It was Mrs. Strangways who said so.'

'Mrs. Strangways! what an excellent, disinterested authority! Did she know, I wonder, that you were acquainted with Paul?'

Oh, yes! She saw us speaking to him on the parade one morning and then, I believe, Miss Whitty told her about his talking to me on the balcony that evening-I

mean

Oh! pray don't explain. It is quite evident the flirtation has commenced in good earnest. I wish you joy of it, Miss Fleming, and I will promise you never to feel jealous; but still, as you have already reached the balcony stage, I think it my duty, as a friend, to state that Mrs. Strangways' information, though spiteful, is quite correct. Paul Chichester will never marry.' 'Oh!'

'He told me so once, perhaps with a man's true vanity, thinking I might be in danger if he did not; and there was something in his face when he said it that made me feel him to be sincere-painfully sincere. Milly entertains all sorts of wonderful theories of her own as to the real cause of his intentions in this matter.'

'And of his moodiness and oddness too,' interrupted Milly. 'I don't know what you mean by "theories," Jane. I judge by facts; and I am sure the extraordinary things we know about Paul are quite enough to make any one think as I do.'

'The extraordinary things being that, when I was in town, I happened twice to meet him in Covent Garden with a bouquet of white flowers in his hand, and that here, in Bath, papa frequently sees him buying white flowers in the market. Miss Fleming, what supposition do you imagine Milly grounds upon this foundation?'

That Mr. Chichester is fond of flowers, I should think,' said Esther, with a little laugh: but, in spite of herself, her spirit sank somewhat as she spoke.

"Fond of flowers! what nonsense!'

cried Miss Millicent, indignantly. 'As if men were ever fond of flowers or ever bought them for themselves! Besides, what was the time when you met him in Covent Garden?-ten o'clock in the morning. Is it likely he would go out at such an hour to get flowers for himself? Would he, here in Bath, be seen out in the market before breakfast, and then walking away with his flowers across Combe Down in a pouring rain if they were for himself? The thing speaks for itself!'

Then whom are they for, Milly?' And, having had time to prepare herself, Esther believed that she now spoke very calmly and collectedly. Who is the happy recipient of Mr. Chichester's white bouquets?'

'Ah! there is the mystery. Jane suggested that he might be privately married, perhaps; but that supposition could not possibly hold good. Who ever heard of a man getting up early to buy flowers for his wife? and the most expensive ones, too! Papa took it for granted they were all coming to Jenny, and brought us home such a description of them-roses, and azaleas, and everything that was hardest to be bought. Do you remember, Jane, you borrowed my last five shillings, and went out and got some like them at once, for fear papa should begin making inquiries, and get to hear more than was convenient?'

'Yes; and those I saw him with in town were just of the same expensive kind,' Miss Dashwood replied. Moss rose-buds, and white heath, and rhododendron, early in May.'

Then, whoever it may be that the flowers reach, she has good taste,' said Esther, rather shortly. 'And, as none of us have any real interest in Mr. Chichester, I don't see why we should trouble ourselves by speaking of things that can only concern him.'

'You are quite right, Miss Fleming!' cried Jane, starting up suddenly, in her impulsive fashion. 'Milly, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for giving way to such undignified curiosity. I shall never

speak about those flowers of Paul's again.'

But I shall,' cried Milly, who was not at all prone to sudden revulsions of delicacy. Nothing is greater fun to me than routing out a mystery; and I have long determined to come at the meaning of Paul's flowers, and his oddness, and his stealthy comings and goings, and everything about him. I have had a capital scheme in my head for some time past; and you, and Esther too, although you may be too high-minded to give me any assistance, will both be just as curious as me to hear the news, when I have got it.'

'What should you say if I made a right guess about it all, now, Milly, and so saved you your trouble? Mr. Chichester may have been getting flowers all this time for Mrs. Strangways. She is a person who, I should imagine, would not mind receiving those sorts of small attentions, and he mentioned having been acquainted with her in London as well as in Bath.'

Now I fully believe that Esther said this to turn aside the tacit reproach which she felt her former remark must have conveyed to Jane; at the same time, and giving her credit for any amount of honest simplicity, I cannot help thinking she had also some desire, some latent curiosity herself, to hear Mrs. Strangways' name mentioned by the Dashwoods in connection with Paul's.

'You dear, verdant old Esther!' cried Milly. So like you to fix upon the one wicked thing in the world that will never come to pass! Paul Chichester won't have Mrs. Strangways' goodwill at any price, will he, Jane?'

'I think it a great pity you try to talk slang, Milly dear; you do it so badly, and it doesn't become you.'

'Oh! that's very fine, Miss Dashwood. I have heard you say the same thing a dozen times, at least; but you always want us to seem better than we are before Esther.'

'What is it that you have heard me say, Milly?'

'That Paul won't have Mrs. Strangways at any price.'

I am sure I never said it in those words, which, putting aside their vulgarity, don't mean anything whatever.'

Then you have said it in others quite as expressive,' persisted Milly. 'I remember, perfectly, one night at the Strangways' (that night papa did not go, and you would sit out half the dances with Arthur Peel), just as we were leaving the cloakroom you congratulated Paul upon Mrs. Strangways' attention to him, and he said

'My dear Milly, it is time for us to go,' interrupted Jane; but she reddened somewhat guiltily. 'You have talked quite nonsense enough for one occasion, I am sure.'

But Milly was not to be silenced. 'And Paul shrugged his shoulders, and said, "No, Miss Dashwood, I must really disclaim the happiness you assign to me. Mrs. Strangways is not at all likely to take any trouble

about so insignificant a person as myself. Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.' I remember it so well because I asked you what that meant in English as we were driving home.'

Then all I can say is that it's a great pity you have not better things to remember, Milly. Any man living might be excused for making a stupid remark at the fag end of one of Mrs. Strangways' stupid" At Homes;" but it is really too bad that such speeches should be chronicled.'

And then Miss Dashwood so resolutely changed the subject by discoursing about the gaieties that they were to have during the ensuing winter, and her hopes that Miss Fleming would be induced to join in them, that Esther (whatever in her heart she might desire) had no further opportunity of hearing Paul Chichester's name that day.

HERE is one radical difference between the rides, drives, and promenades of London and of Paris. Here, true British Brahmins that we are, we preserve our caste even out of doors-there, both the world and the people choose the same spots for air and recreation. Here, the upper classes keep aloof from the middle classes, and the middle classes from the humble. There, marquis, millionaire, merchant, shopkeeper, and ouvrier mingle as naturally, and sometimes as agreeably as the ingredients of a salad. Socially and personally, every Englishman is a human island, every Frenchman only a portion of continent-not that the Gaul's nature is more adhesive than the Briton'sbut his climate makes him more gregarious, and he must either chatter constantly or die.

The term 'London Society' carries with it a distinct meaning. A man is either in society or out of it, or on its threshold or its stair

case.

He may be in it and not of

it; but there are not two opinions as to what the term means. Now in Paris, society is both more divided and more conglomerated-more exclusive and more open-more accessible and more hermetically sealed.

There is the ancienne, composed of the old historic names, feudal seigneurs who have not trilled syllable on political affairs since 1830. To the rest of France, their salons are closed and their concierges are respectfully forbidding: foreigners they will welcome with that grand old pre-revolutionary French politeness that neither the overthrow of the monarchy, the destruction of that charming safeguard of the honour of families the Bastille, decapitation, exile, senatorial self-annihilation, and Zouave uniforms, has ruffled one marabout feather. As Brummel'cut' the Prince Regent, so have these highly-bred cavaliers and stately dames 'cut' France. She is unworthy of them they will fight for, dance for,

risian variety of the species have a quick eye for a bright spot of costume, or any external peg whereon to hang a ludicrous conceit. On the race-course, at Longchamps, a highly-dressed young gentleman was caracoling on a prancing steed. A gamin caught sight of his wellfitting gloves, which were of a brilliant yellow. 'Pierre,' shouted he, 'this gentleman there has been and shoved his hands into a pair of omnibuses!' The reader will perhaps better appreciate the joke when reminded that in Paris the omnibuses are yellow.

Although the ride to the Bois is charming, the majority of Frenchmen are not happy on horsebackthey seem on duty rather than on pleasure, when followed by un groom. Un groom is generally so emphatically un groom, and not a groom!

In the carriages, the men sit sternly upright, and the ladies lean back majestically. The pace is pleasant but slow, and is kept up during the drive. There is none of the dash and gallop of our equipages when they find an open space, nor of the crawl and dawdle when the 'Row' is packed. As has been remarked in a former paper, the vehicular turn out' of Paris has wonderfully improved since 1851, and 'les dog-carts' look quite knowing and turfy.

The good folks on foot sit down very much during their walk. It is their way of enjoying pedestrian exercise; for your Parisian is so inveterate a flâneur one would think he would flân during a bombardment. He seldom goes beyond the Arc afoot; and the carriages, as they roll through that charming piece of vainglorious sculpture, into the Avenue de l'Impératrice, have it all to themselves. A pleasant trundle over a well-watered road, and the beautiful gates of the beautiful Bois admit you to its leafy serried ranks of foliage-for a large portion of the park is laid out with military rectangularity. The lower branches of the trees are lopped off, and they stand in the earth stiffly, like soldiers at the word 'Attention!" There are broad roads for carriages,

and narrow alleys, or columns, of verdure, under which equestrians can canter.

The pedestrian who prefers trunks of trees to street-lamps, is permitted to wander from the paths to a thick, umbrageous solitude, where he may, if he please, indulge himself with reflections, like Jacques, but must not, like Orlando, carve any name on any tree. C'est défendu! as all mischief ought to be.

In one of these well-kept jungles we met an Orlando and Rosalind of 1863 Orlando in bottes vernies, and lemon-coloured kid gloves Rosalind in a piquant and provoking little hat and feather, and the sauciest of abbé collars. She kept her eyes upon the moss as young Mr. O. into the porches of her pretty sea-shell-looking ear did pour his lover-like attachment. As they neared us their eyes met ours, but they did not start, or seem confused, or affect an indifferent manner, after the fashion of billers and cooers of Britannic parentage; but went by as if we had no existence, Orlando bending towards her, his eyes fixed upon her cheek; Rosalind with half-averted head, but listening body. They were not ashamed of being seen, or of each other; and so they threaded the glistening stems and were soon lost in a silver verdant distance.

Out again into the open on the borders of the Lakes, and by the Cascade we see empty carriages. Messieurs and mesdames have descended, and are watching the waterfall, the flood, and the pleasure boats. Messieurs stroll away a short distance to enjoy a cigarette, and mesdames enjoy a good mutual stare, and make mental memoranda as to each other's costume. What a wonderful thing is that gaze of a wellbred woman! that sees everything, while it seems to look at nothing. The riotous gymnastic exercises of smoking and staring exhausted, messieurs and mesdames reascend, and the cocher is ordered to drive to the Jardin d'Acclimatation, or the Pré Catelan, or the Plaine de Longchamps-that smooth, well-shaven sheet of moss, with its white cardboard houses, and dry-land junks