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“ A bondâ€"yes.” VIE-12.1%; myself to nothing,” answers fully. “ He was ignorant of your former rela- tions with her. He knew nothing,” cries she, eagerly. “Nothing! I have it from his own lips.” “ Then he lied to you,” declares Staines, coolly. For he had the whole story from my lips, before ever I accepted his invita- tion. Some absurdly quixotic impulse drove me at, that moment to mention it.” “ Is that the truth ‘3” asks she, in a. ter- ribly eager way. “If you doubt me, ask him.” returns he boldly “ You love her 1” she asks, hurriedly. “ I have not asked you if you love him,” tetorts he, coldly. “ True.” She winces a little. “ It. is then a bond between us, to help each other _when we can ‘3” demands he, here? “ Had he even t of a. womout 10v cold contempt, “ ham ‘3” be last lingering remnants e for her,” he says with would he have invited me “ There is no such preference as that of rhich you hint,” returns she gloomily. “ There you wrongâ€"yourself. Yet, granting you are right does that make it any the easier for you to prove his love for her? When does he seek her sxde? When does a tender glance, a kindly word pass between them '3 Has he even forced a. smile for her?” “hoâ€"And yetâ€"” she hesitates, grows suddenly silent, and Staines plays his trunlp card. . CHAPTER XIII. Eeanwhile Muriel, going slowly gp the -_-v v. vuanu. .11 .l. wereâ€"" she pauses. “ You would feel more free to act? Why, look into it, as it stands. Would a. man who loved, neglect the object of that love, as he does her? Would he deliberately and openly betray in a. thousand ways his pref- erenge for another 1” , . _, _-- .. ._,. “ It is of him alone, I think,” she breaks in, vehemently. “ As for her, let her go. I owe her nothing but hatred for 9. studied course of insolence since the first hour we met. But there is his happiness to be con- sidered.” “ Pshaw l” scornfully. “ Is it not open to all the world to read between the lines? It was a capriceâ€"a. mere passing fancy on his partâ€"a desire for a. pretty tace, of which he has already tired. The fancy, the ca.- “ I am not so sure of that. If I wereâ€"” aka .â€" ~~~~~~ ‘ - ._.. â€"v uuu ancu-u Hy. “And yet you Shrinkâ€"you hesitate. I tell you there is no need for compunction. They are less than nothing to each other,” says the tempter, slowly. H T} :5 A: L:__ I â€" . ‘ A , , --___vw UV UVV IU- “ Think,” he whis ers im ressivelv, 9 “ whether I can be of no service to you in this matter 2” “ In what way, sir?” “ That I leave to your woman’s wit to an- swer,” returns he. “ You can’t make up your mind, then? Perhaps you think I overestimate my powers of usefulness.” “No. I don’t doubt you there.” She lifts her head and looks at him steadily. “ Ant] no} cu“. _L__:, I . He hglds ourtv ids hand to desirous at once of forging madam? glecliues to see it. “ That Branksmere was as good a parti as there is in England,” retort: he, con- temptuously. “Take it then as you insist on it.” ‘ You know nothingâ€" nothing,” cries she, with an angry sob. “ Why should we quarrel over the fact that we have each made a discovery of the other’s secret? Let us be comrades rather. A common grievance such as ours,” with a short laugh, “should have the effect of creating between us a link of sympathy. He holds out his hand to her as though ‘ desirnnq 91» A“-.. A: -_ “You do not] fiercely, “until v V7853 {on meant.” ‘ ‘__--_-, ulvvl~|6 a 30c? Ul.‘ two. Madame following, lays a firm hand upon his arm. “You do not leave this,” she declares, fiercely, “until you have explained what it, won ”an _-_,,L 1’ “Pshaw ! N othinp to make you look so tragical,” returns Staines, moving a step or 15W0. Madame follnwh-m In..- .. c__ L 1 uku â€" CAD WIDE m ing the words from between teeth. u. was your own fault--you led me up to'it, you know. Sorry if I appeared unchival- rous, but you would have it, you know. " “You meanâ€"‘2” exclaims madame, forc- ‘nn films ._A_j, ‘ kind.’ M; aisapoo’intment, as you call it, was hardly greater than yours. Seven years is a long time in which to strive only to be at last undone 1" Her color fades. She steps back involun- tarily, and a dangerous light creeps into her dark eves. “Come ! that was hardljr fair of me,” laughs Staines, in a. conciliatory way. “But it was your aim fault-won led me nn tn-it u. unnolucl . ‘7‘ “J U “Madame is beautiful 3” she throwing out her exquisitely sha with an expressive movement. ‘ lieve it or not as you willâ€"I ha. felt sorry for you,” she murmurs. “ ‘A fellow feeling,’ ” quotes with an ugly sneer, “ ‘makes us kind.’ Mv disanminomn... M -â€" glancing at mm trom under her sleepy lids. "A second disappointment?" “Madame,” replies he deliberately, “you speak in parables. A second disappoint~ ment implies a first. You allude toâ€"?” Whatever half-formed plan madame had 11 her head, takes shape and color now. She leans forward, elevates her shoulders, and makes a little graceful gesture toward the hall where Staines has just had his in- terview with Lady Branksmere.‘ ““nAaâ€"- 2s v ... - .. “Yo‘u ieemed in hot haste, it turns she. “Quite as if you we away from something. What; glancing at him from under her : "A second digappointment ‘3" 1“! ‘ ' “Well met,” she says, airily, “ That of course, if you allow it,” returné he, gallantly. “Yet you scarcely seemed overjoyed to me a. moment since, smiles she in her swift, canons tashlou. OR, LOVE IS ALWAYS THE ' I can 9” demands' ne. But remember I pledge CHAPTER XII. as you willâ€"I have indeed 'ou,’_’_ she_ murmurs. of forging this link, i_thi;1k,” she breaks n..- vw, “succu, re. as if you were runnin an“... nu, . g HIS HEIRESS' She. nilaughat, makes us wondrous haste, indeed,” rel ‘rhe whispers, shaped hands ;. “Ah ! be- her clinched was it. 93" Staines, b_u b smug m net wnne gown ‘2” she asks. “ Such a pretty creature. It isn’t you I’m talking of, you will know, because you ate ,JjV- f‘Hayé you seen her yet? The thmg 1n her white gown?” she “ lenk a “'A“.- -_--4.___- 0 Here, alas ! the vital spark grows dull again, and returns to its sad flickering that is but the prelude of its death. The touch of strength the worn-out brain had received dies away, and scooping forward the old woman twines her bony fingers round Muriel’s white wrist and breaksinto futile mumblings. "‘ You do an old woman much honor. I am very pleased to see you, my dear,” she says proudly but sweetly. “ Pray be seat- ed, Brookes ! a. chair for my Lady Branks- mere. It is a gracious action of yours, my dear, to grant the dying a. few minutes out of your young life !” ' “ What is that you are saying, Brookes ?” cries the dowager, shrilly. “And who is that lurking behind the curtains? Let ’em stand forward? D’ye hear? What are they hiding for, eh?” Here, catching sight of Muriel, memory again takes fire, and she knows her. Old habits return to herâ€"old digniEY- _ “Your ladyship will excuse her,” en- treats Mrs. Brookes, turning to Muriel with a. sedate courtesy, “It is not one at madam’s good days. ” “ Slaves count time,” quarrels the miser- able wreck, vacantly. “It has nothing to do with us. Who spoke of my' Lady Branksmere? \Vas it you, Brookes? You ‘ should know better. She will never be my lady now-â€"noâ€"never!” “ Hush, madameâ€"” “ But what of herâ€"the little one? She had ought to have been my lady, but wasn’t. What of her, Brookes? Is she coming to me? Tell me, woman, or I'll strike you?" “ Not to-day, mmdam,” soothingly. “She should, then. Memory 18 quick within me. All, all comes back to me to- day. Seven years ago, Brookes. Seven years. My poor little boy! my poor fel- l - __A n, low ! “ I don’ t know, madam. Time will do it, perhaps,” returns the attendant, doubt- fully. â€"-., “ Thére are 36 iririzany 6f {hemfiu My Lady Branksmere of to dayâ€"and she of yester- dayâ€"and she of the day before ! Why don’ t some of’ em dieâ€"eh. 9” “ , ,, ,V v._ .1“ “Viv“. anuiuwuu, Agâ€"ay. I know. I am sxck of her name, returns the old woman, quemlously. I. '1‘ ‘ “ 'Pkann nun (In M....-. -B ‘L -_.A 7“ It is Lady .Brunksmerefi; Egaam. She has come to see you â€"at your requgsb,” 11‘ 7‘ _ The dowager seems unaware of her pres- ence until Mrs. Brookes, stooping over her, lays her ham! upgn hgr shoulder Two gaunt; hands, delicately formed, bu inhuman in aspect, are resting on the faded but gorgeous counterpane. The lips fail to conceal the toothless gums within ; and the scant and hoary locks, are bound by a funeral band of black velvet that serves to heighten the ghastliness of the half-living picture. ,__ v.â€" -.v. r. vUâ€"IIVV. In a. huge four-poster of enormous dimen- sions, lies a. figure, a. mere shell of our poor humanity ! A wizened, aged, witch-like face looks out from the pillows ; a. face that but for the eyes might well be mistaken for a 255cc of parchment. The room is semi-lighted, the curtains be- ing closely drawn, a sullen fire is burning-in ‘ the huge grate, and a black cat, gaunt as Mrs. Brookesâ€"â€"who had opened the door for Murielâ€"sits upon the hearth-rug. As Muriel advances, this brute turns its head slowly round and spits at her in a. malevo- lent fashion. “ Be quiet, then, my beauty, my sweet- heart !” she murmurs, absurdly, to the creature. The dull flames emit a. duller light; through the closed curtains a. feeble ray is struggling ; Muriel, peering anxiously into this obscurity, finds at last the occupant of l the room who has desired her presence. T- - L,, 7 She dr-ofis back a step 62', is}; in respectful fashion as Muriel enters, and then returns to_1_1_er station beside the bed. It is opened to her by a. tall, gaunt: wom- an, with a peculiarly bloodless face, and eyes deeply get and colorless. _ -v --.w- -â€"v ter of‘éicefone. She rouses herself, how- ever, zmd turning resolutely toward old Lad) Branksmere? a room, knocks gently at the door. She draws a. heavy breath. A sense of suffocation weighs her down'. It. is thefirst time shehas been here since that afternoon when Mrs. Stout had escorted her through the upper parts of the house in the charac- She shivers a little as she reaches the heavy hanging curtain that hides the en- trance to the corridor that leads not only to the dowager’s apartments, but to those of Mme. Von Thirsk. She stops short. Beyond her lies the other curtain that hides the large door that leads to madame’s own rooms ; those rooms that no one may enter save madame herself, andâ€" Y” And now? She rises wearily from her seat in the great painted window, and goes on her unwilling way to the dowager’s apartments. Now, she has neither lover’s nor husband’s love ! At this point in her meditations Muriel «have into a. low cushioned seat in one of the staircase windows and laughs aloud, softly but with an indescribable bitterness. A steady barrier should, and must, be placed between her and Staines forever; Brsnks- mere should be that barrier I her yet ?7 The little SAME. “ Well, she hasn’t; starved you at all events. You were always slight, you know,” says Tommy. “ Indeed, I might even go further and say she has fatbened you,” continued Tommy holding back the twins, at; arms’ length. Like a fiale lily she stands, erect, slender, half child, half woman. Mr. Paulyn, who is doubtless a. person of good taste, seems delighted with her, and kisses her warmly in cousinly fashion. “ That’s all right ! So am I,” declares Mr. Paulyn, cheerfully. “Oh, by Jove, hegeis Angelicefl” , r--v_-. “ There you are, Curzon,” She says quite carelesslyâ€" “ Ah, Bellew ! Glad to see you. How are you, old chap ‘2” asks Paulyn. 5‘ nun- mg]! 91.--]- "A“ n r_ _ :_-_,: “Quite well ihank you.” “I; a. freezing tone, and with a glance full of deadliest; hatred. All this you may be sure is creating pure rapture in the bosom of the young man who is still standing transfixed between the room and the balcony. His eyes are glit- tering by this time his brow is black I He brings the leg that has been lagging on the balcony into the room, with a. resounding thud that rouses the two at the piano. “ It; doesn’t matte: a. bit how or why you came, so long as you are here,” declares Margery, lovingly. “ I’m not sure, unless it; was to see you,” returns Mr. Paulyn, gallantly. “ I met Branksmere one day in Piccadilly, and be seized hold of me as though he was a. police- man. ‘ Come alonger me,’ said he, and I hadn’t much of an excuse ready, soI comed.” “ Dear old thing l” she cries. “ To think you’ve really come ! Oh, Tommy. I say, how mce it is to see you again !” “ Why, there you are, Margery, old girl -â€"and how are you l”returns the Honorable Tommy. “ Pretty well, eh? Bearing up, eh ‘3 That’s right. Never say die is your motto, I take it ; and let me tell you I admire your spirit.” . “ You ought to," says Margery, gayly. “You have had plentyof time to study it. What brought you down at this ungodly period? You, who are so fond of your ‘Pell Mull‘ ‘2” “ Well. haw does she treat you 2" asks He lays violent hands upon the long-suf- fering instriiment, whereupon thunders up- rise from it fulfilled with that touching melody commonly known as “ Tommy Dodd.” Mr. Bellew, making his usual en- trance into the house by means of the school-room window, is so staggered by it that he pauses midway, with one foot on the balcony still and one on the carpet inside. And Margery darts like a. swallow into the old room and literally flings herself into the musician’s arms. “ I hope the new importation isn’t play- ing the very (looce with ’em all,” he sclilo- quizes, plaintively ; it looks bad. No yells; no skirmishiug. Not as much as a. cushion aimed at a. fellow’s head from behind a. half- opened door. It does look poor ! It is one of two thingsâ€"either they have all suc- cumbed to the plague of the cholera, or Billy’s Wife is an out-and-outer. “ l.Vell, I’ll solve the riddle at once. If any of them are still in the land of the living, this will fetch ’em.” The library is reached and found empty. The schoolroom is invaded with a. sinking heart ; but here, too, desolation reigns. Good gracious ! Where are they? What on earth has happenedk The p'ano is lying open, and Mr. Pauly", seating} 'mself upon the music-stool looks mournfully' down upon the yellow keys. Finding the hall door lying hospitably open he enters the house without the usual rat-tat; and traverses the hall without meet- ingfla soul. “ I knowâ€"I I ‘I‘mderst-md,” murmured Muriel, in astifled tone. leleasing herself gently, from the dowager’s grasp, .she rush- es from the room. ‘ 6 “ You must not heed her, my lady ; she is not, herself to-day,” says Mrs. Brookes hurriedly. “ My late lord’s death madea. terrible impression upon her. She sees visions at times, or fancies she does. There is not truth in anything she says ! I pray you remember that, madam ! He was hef favorite grandson, you see, and his sudden death, caused by such awful means, unsettl- ed her poor brain.” “ Stay, stay !" cries the dowager. “ You haven’t told me yet if you have seen her. She, who ought to be you, you know! But it islseven years ago. Seven years! No, Brookes,” testily, “I will not be sil- ent ; I will ask her. Why should she not be told ? It is a sad story, and my Lady Branksmerc here seems to me to have a. tender heart. Ah ! it would melt a harder heart than hers to hear the story of the little one. Such loveâ€"such devotion and all for naught. Now is too late ! You, need bear no malice, my dear ; it is, indeed, too late, as you know. Nothing could make her Lady Branksmeref‘now! Yet‘ that is what she cravesâ€"what she cries for l night and day. Sometimas I hear her in! ‘the dead of night. I don’t ask you if you see her now!” she whispers, wildly clutching at Muriel's arm. “ I can see for myself. Look ! Look, I say. She is there. There! in her little white frock, Withâ€" W'hat is that, Brookes? What is that?” shouts she violently. “It is bloodâ€"his blood? D’ye see the red spots upon her gowu? They are hisâ€"his, I tell youâ€"his I heart’s blood ! Drops drawn from his pierc- ' ed breast! Oh Arthur! Oh, my pretty, L--- I” \J V A longing to escapeâ€"to get; away_ from her Immediate surroundmgs, to be aloneâ€" takes possession of her. She rises precipi- tately to her feet. Lady Branksmere, and she isn't. She can’t be now, they tell me. But she was the prettiest little soul, and all in whiteâ€"m white.” “ Recollect yourself, madam !” whispers Mrs. Brookes, severely. “Go away, Brooke‘s. Go away, I say. Nobody understands me but Thekla. Where ‘ is Thekla. ‘3 Ah ! she knows the little one ! Thekla knows lâ€"she will tell you!” she whispers, leaning toward Muriel, who has grown very pale. The old woman’s srranze wordsâ€"the evident- desire of the attendant to silence her, have suggested to her strong confirmation of doubts that are already at work within her. Seven years ago madame had said I Seven years ago was Madarne Von Thirsk a. pale, slender maiden? Did she wear a. white gown? Was it she who should have been Lady Branksmerc 1n her--Muriel’s piace. 1 A sensation of faintness creeps over her as she sits still and motionless beside the four-poster, hearing but ‘not heading the idle wanderings of its occupant. a; _.- CHAPTER XIV. his “ Seeâ€"here: Meg. I’ver 7 btvgvaaal 00d 21?? ' thing toâ€"” but at this she sgtops dead shgort. 15 I She stares inquiringly at Tommy, who is :‘C' generqusly returning the attention. At last ty Mr. Bxlly gives way. She smiles broadly. H VAII Arum" 10.1.. ._- It-.. 9) J , .__- vwvu --v-n- luvs . “What I want to know is,” said Mr. Paulyn “ why she married Branksmere. He’s a good old chap enough, and I really like him, but there was that other fellow Staines; he’s staying there now, by the wayâ€"dooced bad taste of him, I thinkâ€"â€" well ! she was going to marry him awhile ago, eh '3” “I’m jolly glad she didn’t,” says Dick. “ So am I,” supplements Ananlim “Not. a. bit of it,” s ys Tommy, stoutly. “Only she worries me. She’s as good as my sister, you know. In fact, all the girls here make up the only idea. of home I’ve ever known. And I’m certain Murielâ€"” “Is quiet happy,” interrupts Margery. “ Why, What silly notion have you got into your head now ‘2 Is Muriel never to have aheadaohe ? never to look pale '3 Is she such a. favorite of the gods that. all the ills of life are to be held back from her ?” “ She regular frightened me, I can tell you. I used to be spoony about that girl,” confesses Mr. Paulyn in a. loud, clear voice. “ I loved her likeâ€"like â€"well, like any- thing, you know ; and now to find her so pale andâ€"and, still, rather took it out of me. Somebody ought to see to it, you know. Branksmere musk be treating her very queer to bring her to ‘such a pass. I can’t get her out of my head,” declares Mr. Paulyn, earnestly. “ Kept dreamin’ of her all last night.” “ You’re in“ love with her still,” laughs Mrs. Billy, gayly ; “ that’s what’s the mat- ter fgibh you.” ' “ Elegafit deséription !” murmurs admiringly. “ Been getting it up my? _ “Yes, at Branksmere. Fine old place. By the bye,” glancing round him confiden- t-ially, “I never saw anything so awful as Muriel is looking ! Like a. handsome ghost. White as paper, don’t, you know, and her eyes as big as_ a. pond.” “AI-e you staying at Branksmere 1” asks Dick. “ Muriel said something about yogicomingi” “ Well, 1"m not,”'aaysri;i‘»3rinmy, and then he laughs the loudest of them all at his mishép. “ Well, I’m bloâ€"â€". Oh, ooufound it !” gasps he. “ What: the dooce is the good of asofa like that, eh? Regular man-trap, what? I’ll take jolly good care I don’t; trust myself to its bender mercies again.” “ You have taken care.” cries Margery, who is roaring with laughter. “ IL’s in bits, poor old thing. And such an old friend as it was, too ! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tommy.” “ XVal'l T’rn “n6- ’1 ..... m-.._,,, , 1 .- vv «In .I.’ supplements Ange Dancing-master sort of a. man !” “ She married Branksmere because agam l 1m a bird of passage, you know; here to-day and goneâ€"” The Word “ tomorrow” is squealed out in a. stifled tone, the old sofa having given way beneath him and buried him amongst its ruins. Heels u’p the Honorable Tommy disappears from view. “ No, I will not,” sayé'aAngelica. “ You have not said what’s trueâ€"I will not go near you," “ Then you’ll be sorry presently.” says Mr. Paulyn. “ \Vhen I’m gone ! I shall only be here for a. week or so at; the furthest, and who knows when you will see me again ! I’m a bird of passage, you know; here to-day and goneâ€"” ,, i “ They would, you knowâ€"” he says, giving his shirt-collar a. conceited pull. “ They are so fond of me.” “ Isn’t it true, Angelica,” persists Mr. Pauiyn. “ Don‘t you love me ‘3” “ Have I said so, Tommy?” asks she in her quaint, quakerish fashion; “ A thowsmd times.” replies he. V “ I will not contradict you. I will leave it to your conscience !" says the slim, tall, childish little thing. “ You leave it in safe quarters, then,” declares the irrepressible Tommy. “ You have named as umpire in this case about the 1 best thing of its kind. Don’t mind her. Mrs. 1 Dxryi. she adores me. Come over hare. Angelica, and sit beside me. I have a. whole budget of news to open to you.” “ Mn T will unl- ” an"; A___'I: , u 1v Iommy. Tommy Paulyn : you know. ” “ Why, yes, certainly,” says Mrs. Billy. and holding out to him a. ft‘iendlv hand. “ \Vhen did you come, eh? I seem to have known you for centunes, the girls talk so moelLabout you. ” r~â€" â€"â€"vâ€"â€".-Jo “ You don’t help me, Meg,” she says with a. little laugh. “ The situation, I have no doubt, is full of interest, but as yet I am rather in the dark. Is this another of your young men ?’,’ *‘\ “ Certainly not.” she says. “ It is only Tommy. Tommy Paulyn : you know. ” “ \Vk" "A- _-_L_:n1" n h... After all it is only Mrs. Billy herself who meets their expectant gaze. Her bonny face is wreathed in smiles, and she accosts Margery in quite a radiant fashion. “ an km... u..- n_- “L , “ Here she is !" cry the twins at this moment in a breath. All turn, in a. slightly awed manner, to the door. “ If you exert Sveitfilgbfeifi_a_v._'ii£tiefll;i't, you will remember that; I said ‘ she,’ ” retorts Mr. Paulyn, who is now deeply incensed. “ And I never heard of a. woman in the mega; Did you '3” “ Ho'z; often have F‘Wamed you that your incoherency will bé‘ your ruin ! From the way you spoke one might quite as easily believe you were talking of the man in the moon as of Billy’s wife.” “ T; AAAAAAAAA MA. ‘ ‘ I. 1 J 1 ‘ ‘ n super???”- u .. _ “ Why, to MEET‘Duryl, of course,” very justly aggrieved. “.VVhd‘diQQu thiqk ‘2” H II-._- ABL, “ There isn’t any day to win,” declares Angelica, lifting her penciled brows. “It’s won already.” . “ Then more shame for youâ€"a. poor spirited lot !” exclaims Mr. Paulyn scorn- fully. “ Tobe sat upon at the very first assau't. “ I’m disgusted with you all. I believed there was some sort of go amongst you, and now? That kind is she, eh ‘3” with a. startling drop from the highfalutin to the ordinary gossipy tone. “ She? Who, on earth, Tommy. are vou Old song! ’Member it? That’s your case ‘ with Billy, don’t you see ?” - “ Butâ€"” begins Margery, eagerly. “ “ Yes, of course, I quite understand all that. Beastly hard work upon you all. But what I say isâ€"don’t give in to her too much! Hold up your heads. March! Give yourselves airs ! There’s a lot of you, ‘ and only one of her, and I don’t see why the crowd shouldn’t win the day.” ‘6 Thnrn I'en’l~ 4!an A-.. 1-- m:n ” AAA1A_Aâ€" the Honorable Tommy, sinking his voice to a mysterious whisper. “ Is she support- able, or the very devil, eh ‘2 I’m afraid it’s the latter. But you’ll have to bear up, you know. ‘ A frog he would a-waoing go. whether his mother would have it; or no! CHAPTER XV. supplemehta ‘lAngélâ€"i‘ca. . bn eii'th, Tommy, are you asks Margery, with some u's Dick, up, Tom- she \ - uuuuuuu 6 uIlWKly at the horse’s heads )â€"Shall I get in now, my dear?” Mrs. Strongmindâ€"“ Why, agate enough, James ! I knew there was something lack. ing !”â€"[ Dhicago Tribune. â€" ,___b, “u Husband 37nd Father at the horse’s heads \â€" Mrs. Strongmind (about to start Exposition grounds)â€"“ Let me se are the wraps, here’s the lunch and here’s the opera- lass, and he bundle of umbrellas. § guess we’ everything, and yetâ€"children, we forgotten z‘mythigg, have we ?" a. return dinner becomes a. matter of obliga- tion. 'lhe economies of such a. man excite no scorn or surprise. Hi‘s case is too common. He has deliberately accepted life at $1,500, a. year, and the average Englishman sees nothing discreditable in such acceptance, or in the voluntary idleness of a man perhaps of education and brains. â€"[San Francisco A Forum: n I» Argonaut. Expenses of English Club Life. The life of an English club member, with say, $1,500 to $1,800 a year. involves econo- mies that to the average American would be impossible, if he knew that by going to work he could earn as much more. It means lodg- ings in some quiet street, at considerably less than similar lodgings would cost here, breakfast at the lodgings, a. luncheon some- where else and dinner at the club or at the ‘ house of a. friend. It is possible to dress de- centlv on very little, so that the young man is able to dine at the club the year round ; if need be, to have his little run in the coun- try, his cruise on a friend’s yacht or his fishing in the Highlands or in Norway. It is common in 'London clubs .of the quiet kind to provide a table d’hote dinner at 35. 6d. The dinner may have 'in addition for thirty or forty cents a pint o‘xeucellent clar- et. Most of the dinners at clubs of verv good standing seldom go beyond the table d’hote and its pint of claret. Even men in comparatively easy circumstances are con- tent with this, and anxious that the meal shall be kept within five shillings. Smnenhinn Lou-m. .2. .g.,, A Norwegian Barque Gets Amongst Molina talus of Ice. A Boston special says:â€"The Norwegian ‘ barque Sjokongen, Capt. Cram, which arriv- : ed last night from Wellington, N. 2., re- ports that on March 9, when in latitude 51. 32 south, longitude 50, 45 west, she sighted ‘ two large icebergs, each of which appeared to be 800 feet high and one mile in length. The next day saw between 40 and 50 more icebergs, ranging from 300 to 800 feet high ‘and from 1,000 feet to one mile in length. From 4 p. m. to 8 p. m. that day icebergs were so numerous that it was impossible to count them, and for safety he was obliged toheave the vessel to, in which position it remained until daylight the next morning; when the barque was found to be complete- ly f surrounded with icebergs, extending as far as the eye could reach. Fortunately there was a. good breeze, by which she managed to get clear of the ice, but only by hard work, as the crew had to steer the ves- sel a zigzag course. They finally managed 3 to clear the ice on March ll in lat. 50.06 S. long. 48.30 W., after sailing between the heme all th at day. "‘ I don’t want to,” returns Mr. Bellew. His wrongs burn within him, and his anger waxes warm. “ Lucky you ! as matters stand.” “I wonder you have the hardihood even to address me,” breaks out he in a vehe- ment undertoneâ€"his wrath at last getting the better of him. He does not wait for her answer to this. but turns abruptly aside, leaving her amazed and indignant. and in fact, he whispers to herself, with a good dealm‘him l” (TO BE boxnxunn.) “Do I?” said he, in a tone that warns Mr. Paulyn it will be unsafe to follow up the argument. “ What is the matter with you this morning, Curzon ?" asks Margery, who had again joined the throng. “ You look to me so sour, that I shouldn't think you would agree with any one.” “ I don’t want to,” returns Mr. Bellew. His wrongs burn within him, and his anger WAYAQ mg rm “"Ah! an improvement on my little speech,” declares Mr. Paulyn, unmoved. “Peter, it a little wanting. is still a. speci- ally nice fellow, and to think me the big- gest fool unhung only proves the truth of my Opinion of him. You agree with me, Bellew ?” dragging into the foreground the morose young man among the wmdow- curtains. “DO I?” said he. in a form Hmo- nu--- “ Pat her on athe back, somebody, mildly but firmly,” entreate Mr. Paulyn generally, “Give it her strong. Now then, my poor child. Better eh? W'ell enough to ex. plain 1’” “ It’s only this,” cries May, “ that what you just now said of Peter is exactly what he said of you yesterday, that you were the ‘ biggest fool unhnng.’ That was how he put it. ” “ What is it, M539, ifilvafialg?’rz;;l:s hick, who generally addresses each of the twins by bgth their names. a â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" 3 “ That chifd’s not well, ’ he 83. s 31 1 “ Somebody had better look to in?’ laying severe paroxysm continues much longer, I wouldn’t answer for the conse ” “ ‘Vl‘no :.. :A. It-.. 151-; ,I Ellen-(388; , , ,7 ._- v. 11111:“. “It is an odd thing if I can’t, discuss the girls’ well-being amongst themselves,” be protests, indignantly. “ It is all very fine their pretending to be so independent. but I’m their cousin, and a. sort ofa. guar- dian, by Jove. In fact, I feel as if they were all flung upon my shoulders now, somehow. Billy is, of course, too much taken up with his late purchase to see any- thing beyond his nose, and Peter” (mildly) “is about the biggest fool I know 3” At this one of the twins bursts into a. fit of inextinguishable lsughter. wnen 1 man came Into the room. If 7- me then, but now I have itâ€"recagstfi-gfiil Margery, a. word with you. ” As for Tommy he is left u in a distinctly infiured frame (£03131: field. _“It is an odd thing if I can’t, discuoss the girls’ well-being amongst themselves,” he 'l'.rn4-An¢a :“I'I.nnnnn"â€" K‘ 1'. ~ . I “ You will understand that there areto y be no ‘buts’ in this case,” interrupts Mar- gery. “ I will not have Muriel’s motives publicly canvassed. Do you hear 1" “ Ah ! I’ve discovered it," cries Mrs. Billy at this uncertain moment. “ What 2” asks Angelica, eagerly. “ W hat it was I was going to say to Meg when I first came into the room. It escaped me then, but now I have itâ€"recaptured. Margery,ma. word with y_ou.” chose to do so “Who shall afrange for her u Not I, for one,” says T LOTS OF IOEBERGS. Overlooked. is .oftenproviied for a ,” declares quigery, slowly: pâ€"n_~- 1' ‘ {fifldmfi .meekly the lunch-basket 9-83, and here’s the guess we’ve gab ldren, we haven’ for her E3; m mu??? says Tommy. u But to the prevail at tab public boarding strong reinforce and especially culosis,tha.n an of butter, says are trained to t stmint, and an extravagant to garded as a. In: to bread rather portant article families of the I and that, they Bufi'ering from 1 trary are 8 WM ticularly so if‘ sufficient. to d1 country too. 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