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t:en- to 1 the M pe€ i esâ€"A s Reâ€" yards od a of a orses the sup eccted trict . A roops 8 inâ€" Y that :.oers (A 0,757 AT. 11 yes ng the tax of men, raid w on r Jan. inally up is introâ€" the M 90 uD eep way he ia t a t O 1 K 14 â€" MONSOON "Consideration and money, as you wery frequently remind me, my dear | aunt," he says, speaking in a very | emooth, deliberate tone, nis eyes glitâ€"‘ tering, and his hand nervously caressâ€" Ing his moustacho. "I beg your parâ€" ; don for the slamg ; I consider it most expressive, and it saves so many | words. What I meant to say was, I| have hot had the faintest chance of . making an impression on Miss Deane‘s heart, a@ P firmly believe George Arâ€" l cher was in possession of that valuâ€" | able and easlly lost article from the : first moment she met him at the Imâ€"| perial Hotel in Ballyford. That was . & brilliant flank movement of George‘s, I must say, L anm sorry for my own sake that it may mean the speedly surrender of so rich a prize. But it was a masterly dodge, and no mistake, That little, unexpected visit, amd the unexpected ordering of the dinner, and the rest of the petits #oins, I shouldn‘t have given George oredit for it, I confess I deserve deâ€" fleat. I underrated absurdly the reâ€" sources of the enemy. It was to be ‘a fair fleld and no favor between us,we agreed, and it wasâ€"and he has won, and that is the end of it." No other possesses the exquisite flavor of the genuine MONSOON Ceylon Black Tea. ‘"Not quite," Lady Jeannette says, smiling with a smile which is not good to see. "It is a fortunate thing for you that you can accept your defeat with so good a grace, with almost indifference, I suppose. I feel more keenty for you than you do for yourself, it is very evident. Might I ask how you are so secure and satisfiecd in your belief that Mr. George Archer has won and you have â€"lost?" And she sinks the nails of her clinched fingers into the palms as she asks the question. "Well, I don‘t want to play spy, or Judas, or> traitor, or any other of these unpleasant persons," he says, rather sulleniy, remembering Anne‘s words. _ "But the fact is, I know George Archer and Gillian Deane are lovers avowedâ€"mutualâ€"and all the rest of It. I have had ocular demonâ€" stration to that effect, and I am quite satisfied in my belief that I have lost a hundred thousand pounds, and ho has won it, and a very nice reflection it is for a man in my poâ€" #ition, with the taunts of my kind friends in addition." "How loug have you known this ?" Lady Damer asks shortly. "Since a very short time agoâ€" since yesterday, if you wish to know particularly," he says, curtly. "Ahâ€"yesterday evening? After I left ?" Lady Damer asks, quickly. " Yes, I agreoe with you. Your antagonist deserves to succeed, and you to lose. He determined to win from the first, and you deterâ€" mined to drift on purposelessly, as you do in all things !" * Aunt Jeaanette," Lacy says, quietly as ever, but with a certain alteration and resolution in his face and voice, "to what purpose am I being browbeaten by you in this manner ? I am degraded enough, I should think, already." 2 , "*Will you be amenable to me, and act with me if I try, for the last time, to retrieve your wretched posiâ€" tion, and give you one more chance of the best success that will ever come in your way ?" she demands, with something like passion in her cold, hard voice, and her cold, highâ€" bred face, now flushed and livid with eagorness. f *"* What is your ‘last chance‘?" he asks, coldly. " I have ceased to have much bellef in dishonest poiicy. That {ellow George has won the girl‘s love, and won it honestly, I believe, on my honor, and he loves her in return, for herself as well as her moneyâ€" bags." 1 Lady Damer puts up her pinceâ€"noez and smiles a wintery smile. "I think you have beew imbihbing some touching theories of generâ€" ous love and sellâ€"sacrificing devotion and its deserved reward, my â€" dear Bingham," she says, with her thin, red lips just showing her teeth. "I can guess at your teachor. It is no wonmdler that poor little Miss Gillian‘s tender hart wont unappropriated whilst you woere beneath the influence ‘"You will excuse my leaving you, Aunt Jeannett>," he says, movirg to the door. "I told you before I should never allow an insult, either open or covert, in my presonce, against the girl whom you know as well as I do, is only too good for me, and worthy of all tha honor and esteem I could give her. I was willing to give hoer up and play liar and traitor at your bidding, and because I could not help mysellâ€"bound and hamâ€" pored as I am ; I am willing now, to go any lengths, in common fairness and justice, to struggle out of my of such lofty and such disinterested gent!iments." Lacy stands up at onco with a flush on his face, a sparkle of manly reâ€" solve in his eyes. & hor up and play l‘ar and traitor nt] On that same evening, late as it your bidding, and because I could | is Lady Damer drives over to Darâ€" not help mysellâ€"bound and hamâ€"| ragh Castle on her way to the dinâ€" pored as I am ; I am willing now, to nerâ€"party at Snowhill, looking vyery go any lengths, in common fairness handsome and elegant in the black and justice, to struggle out of my ; silk and laceâ€"draped dress, fresh difficultias, but I will never suffer | from poor Anne‘s deft fingers. Capâ€" a snceer or a word of blams against tain Lacy is in the brougham with her." | her, but she herself only goes in to "Bingham," Lady Jeannette says, . see Giilian,. througch her teeth, "if you leave the; "I dont intend you shall see her room after that speech to me. I until the evening of our dinnerâ€" never wish to see you enter it again.| party© I have a reason for it," her Sit Cown, and answor me. Will you . ladyship say s, decisively, _ and win this girl and marry hor, if [ give | Lacy acquiesces in silence. _ _ _ _ "Bingham," Lady Jeannette says, throuch her teeth, "if you leave the room after that speech to me. I never wish to see you enter it again. Sit Cown, and answor me. Will you win this girl and marry hore, if I give you one more chance of winning her?" M BEW s ysd aanet Tok sev \ dark~ sn n * Prrns oo r on E "Yes, if I can," he says, curtly. "I tol1 you I would long ago, before she came here. 1 hay not gone back from my !momlse because she has chosen to take every chance of succes@from -..'5 "Change your ‘yes, !f I can‘ Into wes, I will‘ and I shall be better Linaiks satisfied," Lady Jeannette says, conâ€" temptuousiy. " Gillian returns toâ€" morrow ; that I have decided on. And the following evening we shall bave a small dinner party to welcome her back, and to congratulate her on her escape, and so forth; and Mr. George Archer will receive an invitation as a matter of course, an invitation so cordial that he cannot but accept it." j _‘"George Archer! Why will you inâ€" vite him?" Lacy asks, amazedly. > " Because he rescued the dear girl when she met with the accident, and when you unluckily were quite disabled," Lady Jeannette says, with that smile which is not good to see. " Mr. Archer has been so kind, so thovghtful, in kindly surrendering his house to us, and in all manner of ways, that surely the very least we can do is to extend a little courteous hospitality to him! So we shall invite him to dinner, and tell our friends he is coming, and praise him and laud him behind his back, as he is rather modest, I believe, and let our guests and friends see in what esteem we hold this worthy young man, and even keep dinner waiting for him, and keep Sir James Damer waiting for him, and keep Miss Dearne waiting in full expectation, until she> has quite timo to realize the slight her rustic admirer has put on her by his nonâ€" appearance." _ "His _ nonâ€"appearance!" _ repeats Lacy, staring; "then he won‘t come, you think? I can‘t quite see your meaning. He never does come here, I know ; but nowâ€"" _ "Now he will have no excuse," Lady Jeannette says, smiling still. "He will have so cordial and flatâ€" tering an invitation, given through Miss Deane also, that he will be quite willing and glad to accept ; butâ€"afâ€" ter all, he will not come; he will never enter Moust Ossory again." "Why, what the deuce do you mean ?" Lacy asks, growing pale with surprise and indefinable apâ€" prehensions. "I can‘t understand you in the least, on my word I cin‘t." . as fully and speak of him as frecly as anyons. But I assure youâ€"and I seldom assure in vainâ€"that George Archeor will not come to our little friendly dinnerâ€"party aft‘r my corâ€" dial invitation. And only at _ the eleventh hour, or after it, indeed, perhaps in the middls of dinner, will his scant, brief apology for his abâ€" sence arrive. It will be very illâ€"bred of him,. perhaps, but what can one expect ?" "I do not intend that you shall," she rejoins, coolly. "It is not necesâ€" sary. Indoed, it is necessary that you know nothing, and expect him "* And why won‘t he come?" Lacy asks, halfâ€"shocked, halfâ€"subdued by strategy which he cannot even guess at. * You‘re very clever, Aunt Jeanâ€" nette, but I can‘t believe you can fonjure away difficulties in that fashâ€" on.‘"‘ % " No ; L can only conjure your rival out of your way, Captain Lacy," she retorts, with the edgo of a sneering smile, "since you are too supine to do it for yourself. Iwill put him out of your way for evermore, I tell you. Pon‘t look so horrorâ€"stricken. I am not in league with the Invincibleg, and that nice young man Isn‘t to be stabbed, or shot, or thrown into a bogâ€"hole after the fashion of those bloodâ€"thirsty Irish. He will simply cease to play marplot, and will, I trust, make his last appearance on any etage in our lives. He will, doubtâ€" less, find one at the Antipodes or the North Pole, which will suit him much better." "S>nd him out of the country ?" Lacy asks, eagerly, his amazement increasing rather than diminishing. " Why, Aunt Jeannette? George never dabbles the least bit in poliâ€" tics, though he is a thorough Irishâ€" mar. How on earth can you send him out of the country? What will you do to make him go ?" Lady Jeannette takes off her eyeâ€" glasses and folds them up carefully, and looks at her nephew with her cold, merciless face quite bright with smiles. ‘So much you may ask, but no more, my dear Lingham," she says, smooth!y. "I am doing this for you. I mwou!ld not do ii for anyy other lving creaturc. Remember that! I will answer your last question, but by neither word nor deed will I afâ€" ford you any mors information. Be grateful to me, if you can, for the effects, but leave the cause unâ€" questioned. And the cause will be thatâ€"I shall say to him just half a dozen words." What else is there left for him to do? He belongs to the abounding class of men who are either some woman‘s tyrant or some woman‘s slave. He knows what he is at $02Z0DO0MNT !or th+ TEETH 26c CHAPTER XXII the presect moment, and acquiâ€" esces and endures, until some blessed chance of fortune makes him free. " I haven‘t a minute to stay with you, my dearest child!" she says, kissing Gillian effusively. "How are you, dearest? You are just like a pale little rose! I could not go on to Bnowhill, the Prestons‘ place, you knowâ€"Bingham and I are going to a quiet little dinnerâ€"without running in for a peep at you." : " Won‘t Captain Lacy come in ?" Gillian asks, glancing out at the carâ€" rlage in some surprise. " He is with you, you say ?" "* Noâ€"0, thanks, dear," Lady Damer Eays, with a sort of hesitancy in her manner, and a puzzled, inquiring look. " He doesn‘t seem very well, poor boy. Ihad to insist on his comâ€" ing out with me this evening; I thought it might brighten him up and do him good. I don‘t quite know what can alil him, he seems very lowâ€" spirited and looks quite ill!" There is a certain significance even in the affectation she makes of being ignorant of any cause for Captain Lacy‘s low spirits and in her delicately hurrying over the subject ; and Gilâ€" lian, without quite knowing why she is blushing, does blush deeply, and Lady Damer sighs softly, and smiles a little, quick, sad smile, and lets her eyelids fall. 1 in . "But you haven‘t told me how you are, dear ?" she resumes, as if sheis embarrassed and glad to change the subject. "Getting _ nice and strongz, I do hope, love, because I am conflcocting a little plot, or a little plan, rather, and you must help me to carry it out, and if you car‘t help meâ€"are not well _ enâ€" ough, I meanâ€"my little scheme all falls to pieces! Goodâ€"bye now, dear child ; take all sorts of care of yourâ€" self, I shall come over early toâ€" morrow to you. Lynch is here, isn‘t she ? Oh, yes, there you are, Lynch!" as if her keen eyes have not scrutinized every objJect in the room in the first few glances. "Because it does cdistress me _ so dreadfully," her ladyship says en passant, with her laceâ€"mittened, joweled hand on (Gillian‘s head, "the way you are deserted and left here by yourself in such a gypsy,{orlorn une conventional fashion‘! You must think wo are a hallâ€"civilized set, we Irish, my darling girl!" with a shrill, gay laugh. "Not but what I am quite sure"â€"this with the sweet, maâ€" trouly air assumed to perfectionâ€" " that dear little Gillian has digâ€" nity and prudence enough to enaâ€" ble her to live anywhere, or under any circumstances, without forgetâ€" ting an iota of what is due to her as a young gentlewoman." Gillian makes no reply, and that her silence is the silence of confusion Lady Damer can perceive, as the ‘"pale rose" face flushes and pales, and she turns her head aside, her fingers restlessly twitching at a velâ€" vet bow on her dress while she speaks. This is her ladyship‘s secret inâ€" nuendo, and for the second time it tells. ‘"Mr. Archer called to see me this afternoon just about 4 o‘clock," she says, in a formal, unsteady voice, which does not seem to belong to her. "And yesterday evening he called to ask how I was. Ho said, too, that he had called every evening to ask for me. Did you know, Lady Damer? I understood he had novper called at all. It seems so odd that I was never There is a light of anger in the timid, fawnâ€"like eyes, which seem darker and deeper, with a sort of fire in their liquid depths; the color on her cheeks and lips is richer and clearer, and cbbs and flows with each change of emotion; she looks tallor, prouder, fairor, stronger as if the "pale rose" of the "rosebud garden of girls," has suddenly blossâ€" omed in full _ luxuriant bloom. . Lady Damer sees, too, that ths invalid shawls and wrappings have beon all discarded, and that Gillian is wearâ€" ing a dainty white serge, with black velvet trimming, and knotted around her throat is a scarf of rich valenâ€" clennes, fastoned with a little diaâ€" mond clasp, which also holds a spray of fresh pink heather. "Fresh heathcr, gathered toâ€"day," her ladyship comments. "He brought It to her, fastened it thore himself, II can seeâ€"it is awkwardly done, just aisth man would do itâ€"pinned in with as many kisses as there are blossoms, I dare say. Our little innocent is proâ€" grossing very fast, as that horrid old Mrs. Blake said. We havyg quite the air of une bienâ€"aimee this evening ! Little Ildiot ! She won‘t be so proud of her conquest in a day or two!" _ "It does ssem odd, certainly, dear," she says coldly, with the knifeâ€"like edge of a smile, which never rises higher than her long, thin, red lips. "And it seems odder still, that Mr. Areher should make calls in such a mysterious fashion when I plainly inâ€" vitedl him to call in the afternoons whet I was with you. H» might have come every day and taken tea with us if he liked ! But he mustn‘t come when I am not hore, my dear," she says, laughing carelessly, and patting Gillian‘s head ; ‘"that is very naughty of Mr. Archer, though he is a priviâ€" leged person, and does all sorts of odd things ! Goodâ€"bye again, dearest ! No, I can‘t stop another instant, my dear; as it is Mr. Preston will be scowling, and the fish will be spoiled." Sheliurrles out of the room withâ€" out giving Gillian time to ut_telf. a out giving GilnIan cIme 10 SRLZCL ©* word of explanation or confession regarding George Archer‘s visits, which indeed the poor child _ is nerving herself, with a fluttering heart and tingling pulses, to give, in some measure, at least. "Goodâ€"bye! I shall be over vyery early, dear," Lady Damor calls back as she hurries out of the room. _ "And I shall be," she mutters to herself. "For I see plainly enough, without any of that old gossiping Mrs. Blako‘s warnings, that there is no time to be lost, and no choice in this emergency, but the â€"last reâ€" source." And Lady Damer is as good, or as bad, as her word, and on the followâ€" ing morning she drives over to Darâ€" ragh Castle about 10 o‘clock, and unâ€" folds her little schome to Gillian, in her ladyship‘s most confiding and artless manner. "I have asked a few friends for tomorrow evening, dear, to meet you on your return to us," she says, with an air of delighted hopefulness, "for Dr. Coghlan says you are quite well enough to come back to us toâ€" dag. I have just seen him and he said, ‘Yes, If we take great care of you,‘ "Ok, does he?" Gillian says, slowâ€" ly, there and then discarding Dr. Coghlan from her favor for everâ€" more. "Yery well, Lady Damer," and then, secing tho keen, steelâ€"blue eyes fMxed on her with apparently amazed ecrutiny, Gillian hastens to LOCbH} â€" HUCE acquiescence. rectify her somewhat ungracious "It is time I gave over playing invalid, I confess," she says, flushing softly, and smiling, as she thinks in her fond, glad little heart how she shall rejfoice over that broken arm of hers all the dayd of her life. ‘"But my arm is quite useless yet, you know, Lady Damer. I shall have to keep it in a sling for weeks, Dr. Coghâ€" lan says. What time am I to go back to Mount Osgory ?" f . ‘"Bhe wants to have the chance of another draught of the stolen watâ€" erg@," Lady Damer thinks, watching Gilllan with cruel amusement, ‘"and as it will suit my plans, she shall. Poor little lovesick fool, it will be the "This afternoon or late this evenâ€" ing ; about seven or eight, whichever you like, dear," she says, eweetly. "Oh ! This evening, then, about eight or nine," Gillian says, hurriedly, putting up her hand with am involâ€" untary gesture to the heather spray she is wearing still. * "His visit is to be late, in ‘the tenâ€" der gloaming,‘"‘ Lady Damer sneers, inwardly. _ ‘"Pretty well for an inâ€" genue." _ i Aloud, she continues, with her carâ€" essing Tingers daintily petting Gilâ€" Man‘s reluctant little rosy palm, and the moét tender and trustful confiâ€" det‘xce expressed in attitude, face and volce : f "But this isn‘t all I have to say. Gilllan, love! I want to ask Mr. Archer to dinner, and I don‘t quite know how to succeed." s A light of eagerness, surprise, deâ€" light, flashes with the sunlight _ of gladness into the pure, childlike eyes, which, however, virginal pride velil gith‘tcalm repression the next inâ€" an‘t. "Yeg ? Ask him to dinner‘" she questions, cooly, with a little careâ€" less surprise. "Yes, dearest," Lady Damer reâ€" joins, with a great assumption _ of impartial earnestness. "We owe him every courtesy and every token . of gratitude, I am sure, for his kindâ€" ness, to you, and you see, unfortunâ€" ately"â€"her ladyship toys with her rings, and smiles her cold, arrogant amileâ€""he and I never get on well together. I fear I offended him in some way, or did not consider _ his position sufficiently, or something of that kind, and so I am afraid that ho will refuge to come, even if I write him the most cordial invitation in the world ! Perhaps, if I give him a perâ€" sonal invitation this evening, or leave a note at Murphy‘s in the village now as I pass, and if he comes in this afternoon. and if you . were to coaX him, Gillian. What do you _ think, _ darling ? He â€" has not _ any quarrel _ with you, and besides, he couldn‘t refuse you ! You dear little white mouse, no man living could refuse you anything if you agked it as a favor|!" _ And herâ€" Gillian is â€" rapturously touched by the tip of her ladyship‘s bony nose and her cold, thin lips. "Now could you, pet ?" she says, seriously, resuming her businessâ€"like earnestness. "He is a most worthy young man, I believe, for his staâ€" tion in life, ant& most useful to Mr. Damer ; and besides, I really feel unâ€" der a deep obligation to him for his conduct just at this time. So goodâ€" natured and considerate. And soâ€"I would not slight him for the worldâ€" I put my casteo prejudices out of the question altogether." "Is Mr. Archer, then, not a genâ€" tleman by birth ?" Gillian asks, in a tone she vainly tries to steady, and the big, velvety, darkâ€"{riaged eyes blaze out of the delicate, roseâ€"pale face. "Sho is capable of defying me on the spot, and glorying in her lover and her loveâ€"affair," thinks the asâ€" tute woman. "A gentleman? By birth ?" she repeats, slowly, as if rather confounded by the qu»ion. And then she looks out of the winâ€" dow and coughs, and seems as if tryâ€" ing to evade a direct answer. "Noâ€"oâ€"not exactly," she says, hurâ€" riedly, in a low voice, and playing with her eyeglasses; "that is to say, he is not one of us you know. But he has been most respectably educated and brought up, and is quiteâ€"quite clever, they tell me. So you see now what my difficulty is, pet." Gillian‘s breast is â€" heaving, her cheeks# are burning, her passionate, loyal heart in a flame. For all her youthfulness, her innocence, her inâ€" experlsnce in the world‘s "double dealings," she reads her clever relaâ€" tive far more accuwately than that astute lady imagines ; and, although she is not really conscious of the "difficulty" which overwhelms Laay Damer in her anxiety to do honor to George Archer, she yet knows that her ladyship is playing a part in which she, Gillian, must necessarily appear, whether to her disadvantage or otherwise. ‘"I see that you do not want to publicly slight him," she says, in a low, hard tone ; "but you do not care to condescend so much as to ask him to your house. He saveC my life, I believe ; so, If you wish, Lady Damer, I will ask him to do mo the favyor of dining with us." "Well, that is rather harshly put, dear," her ladyship retorts, with her frigid smilo. "I can see you are rathâ€" er shocked at my exclusiveness, beâ€" cause I cannot quite recognize my husband‘s landâ€"agent as my equal! I acknowledge his merits and his respectability." She makes this attribute as hopeâ€" less a barrier in the way of his social prospects as ever were the miserable "Bradliey Headstones" "reâ€" @pectable" character and belongings when ranked against the aristocratic lover of "Lizzie Hexam." HMer Frugality. A wellâ€"known English woman who is famous for her tasta in dress was recently asked by a young aspirant not very well acquainted with her London fhow much pin money was reâ€" quired by a woman who "went about a good deal, but wasn‘t really exâ€" travagant." She replied : "If you‘re very careful you can manage to dress on $2,000 a year," and after a slight pausa she added, with modest pride : xt pa Is Snd â€""I used to somehow, when Bobbie and I were first married and hadn‘t $020DO0NT Tooth Powder 2§¢ (To bo continued.) ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORonNnto Thanksgiving, as well as Christmas, has long been a period for wedding bells in New York, and this year wil be no exception to the rule, say the smart dressâ€" makers. As a proof of it they reveal a few of the wonderful things that are to burst upon the world at Yuletide; and aiter you have gaped and gasped and said "Oh," and "Ab,‘ you go home and realize that there isn‘t so much Change in wedding clothes after all. That is, as far as the bride‘s gown itgel{ is concerned, which continues to be the highâ€"necked, longâ€"sleeved, longâ€"tailed model of decorum it has been these many years. Details vary of course, and there are some charmâ€" ing new materials in the market, but ivory satin is still the iron requireâ€" men‘t :51 the swagger modiste, and not onlly does she show a witked penchant for lace, but certain of her class demand the real thing. f Tho lesser lights are more modest, contenting themselves with the beauâ€" tiful imitation dentelles that now hang on every tree, and turning out bewilderingly â€" lovely frocks from comparatively inexpensive _ silks. These silks, along with exquisite novelty gauzes, which are also used for wedding frocks, can be had at any of the good shops under the folâ€" lowing heads: * Argentine (stripe), which has a deliâ€" cate frostiness in the folding ; palais da soie, like the oldâ€"time merveilieux; satin duchesse, a lace patterned broâ€" cade ard plisse Loaisine. o This# last has a light crinkle, in squares and stripes, and because of this novelty look it is perhaps less desirable than the plainer and more solid silks. The striped Louisines are delightful, the fragile texture fallâ€" ing with much grace and showing the frosty lights of the otner Argentines. Indeed, under these, the striping, which is at no time heavily defined, is sometimes lost. For this fairyâ€"like texture, which wells from 80 cents to a dollar and a quarter a yard, pllaln moussoline is an exquisite garâ€" niture. Sozodont Sozodont Tooth Powder â€" 25c. Large Liquid and Powder e« 75¢c. All stores or by mail for the price. Sample for the postage, 3¢. A striped Louisine bridal gown lately seen showed on skirt flounces and bodiceâ€"bertha attached heme of mousseline put on with brier or cat stitch. Tho bertha, which covered the high bodice at the usual bust point, was in diamonds of tucked Louisino between others of the plain muslin. The hem edging gave the bottom â€" rather a frilly look, and at the front there woere long tuckod scarfs of the nruslin that fell almost to the skirt hom. C is Those bertha effects are almost traditional details ol wedding bodâ€" ices, and like the veil and wreath of orange blossoms, they are likely to hold their own till the end _ of time. For those who can afford them there are exquisite berthas of duchesse lace, falling in points, squares and diamonds, which the shops offer as accessories for plain satin gowns. With these culf pieces and shaped collars sometimes go, the set selling from $50 up. A regal bridal gown shows decorâ€" ations of imitation duchesse, which is neither so unworthy nor so cheap as it may sound. for to get good imitation lace nowadays you must pay for it. In fact, so much is this understood that the curse is now almost lifted from the imitation, and when one sees a beautiful gown with filmy insets and royal looking flounces she no longer stops to ask: "Is it real ?" The ticketed prices of the shop have banished the odiâ€" umâ€"and you may buy and wear and be a "lady" still. The disposition of the lace on this gownh follows one of fashion‘s latâ€" est caprices, in that it shows one of the new cuirass bodice effects. To accomplish this a bolero of the duchessâ€"unlined, and worn over A tucked chiffon bodiccâ€"meets a deep princess skirt yoke of the same, &A soft scarf of ivory satin outlining it bottom curve. The sleeves are also of the chiffon, held at two points with lace that they may puff at shoulder and elbow. Over a deâ€" tached petticoat of satin a tucked and flounced skirt front of the same gauzy material | shows superb inâ€" crustations of the duchesse. The equare court train, whose floor eweep is about three quartâ€" ers of a yardâ€"the usual length â€"is slightly wadded, that it may hang in the heavy folds desired for wedding trails. Except for an under dust rulâ€" fle of taffeta edged with coarser duchesse it is untrimmed ; and, of course, no hem showsâ€"which, with the massive fall, is a point to be remembered In the court train. The veil drope slightly on the "tail" and is ol rawâ€"edged tulle caugh‘t, n.Lt tht'e o M P e e e t 99 t top of the head with a knot _ of orange blossoms. Bouquet, lilies of the valley and moss fern, tied with ivory satin ribbon. * 4 L102 EPPE ETT PC The costume the little maid _ of honor wears is of white gros grain with coral and pale green embroiâ€" deries. The second bridal toilette, though charming in its own way, _ loses somewhat through a too energetic striving for novelty. Simple lines are always more becoming than fusâ€" sy effects, and nowhere is this fact more striking than in‘_weddlng finâ€" :;;."w'l;l:c-h--tz ;;c-)-s‘;-éuéfithe dignity its I In Sydney, Australia, epitting in office calls for cannot be too furbeâ€" | the etreets is forbidden on penalty lowed. However, there must be deâ€" | of $5 Good for Bad Teeth Not Bad for Good Teeth Sozodont HALL & RVCKEL, MONTREAL. vices for all types, and perhaps the designer had a very thirt girl in mirdâ€"the sort whose young bones must be hidden» at any costâ€"wher this creation was evolved. At any. rate, it seems admirably suited to such a werrer, and those who care for tunic effects will find in the lace upper part a drapery much! alfected by dressy French gowns. _ > _ There is always talk againost it, but all the signs and omems point toward a revival of the overakirt. Where there is no tunic, some other skirt will show a hip yoke of lace or rich embroidery, pointing down into a wellâ€"defined little apron at the front, if short at the back And what is this but the overskirt is the germ? Well, we shall see what we mhail see. & 1 » Meanwhile let us return to the tunic gown, wheso ground J)dnclpl. is a, white taf{eta princess slip, open«= ing at the back and cut en train» Striped Louisine forms the finelyt kilted skirt flounce, which is edged with a, tiny ruching of white chiffon, and over a tuecked bodice of Louisina the princess upperdress is placed, the corset portion being silkâ€"covered whalebone. It is of point applique, one of thoge delicate braid sewn nets, which are as beautiful as inexpenâ€" sive. as laces go, and a bertha of the same is caught at the bust with a, diamond and pearl brooch. A knotâ€"= tod girdle of chiffon with elides of the same stones gracefully drapea tho hips and falls at one «side. The veil is of tulle, but unlike the nimbus that hangs about the other bride, it shows an inchâ€"wide hem. The bridesmaid‘s costume is what is known as a "costume russe"â€"at least it was called a Russian dress by the obliging lady who furnished the design. It is of cloth in a blua that touches on turquoise with the hardness of that color left out, an@ trimmings of brown sable fox. The model is a sort of redingote, demiâ€" trained and worn over a high, long= slecved slip of white growâ€"grain, _ _ The becoming hat is also blue, an4 white, cloth forming the puffed crown, and a white ostrich feather and a bias of biue panne, slipped through a handg#some buckle, orna~ menting the front. And now the fetching detail of the bridesmaid‘s getâ€"upâ€"the bridegroom‘s gift, which sho wears near the left shoulder ; no more than a very commonplace duck in tiny diamonds set in aluminum, for barnyard creatures, you must know, are the latest things in jewelry. cents direct to us and we will foor« A wordt more on wedding veils and slipper and watch one of these fair then we will throw the rice and the brides go away in the smart coat that follows. The wedding veil need not necessarily be of tulle. Lace ones are worn as woll and some seen in point applique are possessions to be deâ€" gired and cherished forever, the dainty borders running to embroijderâ€" ed orange blossoms, jessamine, doves and loveknot. One yard and a half in width and three and one quarter in length are the proper Gimensions, and $17 will buy a perfect love. _ The wedding handkerchicf, which is sometimes carried by its centreâ€"Just a pinch of two fingers, you know, unâ€" der the prayerbookâ€"should, of course, have a border of lace, even if none is worn elsewhere. Monogramed meâ€" dallions in transparent corners are modisgh designs for these. tak For the goingâ€"away gown pale tan zibeline is a stylish and beautifual material. One of such a stufl has trimmings of black soutache braid, white guipure and black velvet ribâ€" bon. The cut shows the disposition of these, the dapper coat that to tho smart gown being of llght-wel& kersey in the same faint brown, with a heavy stitched border. A lining and collar of sable fox are elegant femâ€" tures which make the bride almost forget the new husband. M In a Word or Two. There can be no perfect love with= out perfect sympathy. Moralists seem to bear a special grudge to pretty faces. One is apt to love more the first time, but better the second time. It is the unusual man who is satâ€" isfied with his fortune and dissatle fied with his intellect. A secret love defends the heart of a woman better than her moral sense. Woman is the salvation or destrucâ€" tion of the family. A woman may give her soul feor a man, and in nine cases out of ten he won‘t think as much of her as if she had jilted him for some one else. After all is said and done it would be a cold day for women if there were not men to poke the fire for them. Love is strongest in pursult, friendship in possession. 25C. Mary 4 H