and observed, and who, having a very charming way of communicating the facts and ideas he had acquired, was of course a delightful companion.

There was an exceedingly pleasing Scotchwoman,-a Mrs. Monteith, a widow, -who had lived with all the bright intellects of twenty and thirty years since, in her youth, and profited largely by the contact. Though past the meridian of life, her sprightly conversation, her accurate, well-expressed thoughts, and her exhaustless fund of anecdote concerning those she had known, made it always a pleasure to listen to her; while her kindly, unaffected manners gave a sense of comfort and ease, like a breath of home, to all who approached her, quite refreshing.

Then there was Professor Boothby, a man of science in the Sir-Humphrey-Davy

line, and almost as highly informed and personally amiable and charming as he. A Mr. Hinton, an artist, with a poet's soul and an inspired tongue. A couple of men of the world-the Honourable Mr. Willoughby and Lord Henry Courtownfull of wit and racy humour and animal spirits, who brightened up every room they entered as if the sun had come in in their wake. And one or two foreigners of the best class, perfect gentlemen, and instrumental performers of first-rate talents; who-with the three Tremornes, (Lord Charles sang exquisitely) Walter, whose capacities in this respect we know, and Agnes herself-constituted an amateur musical coterie such as is very seldom indeed to be met with under one roof.

Besides these, there were the wives and daughters of several of the men above

mentioned-ladylike, cheerful, and conversable-sufficient to make the party numerically an equal one, as regarded the two sexes.

Altogether, the réunion promised well; and to those who, in addition, had a prosperous love warm and snug in their bosoms all the while, there was no reason to fear but that the time would pass delightfully.

It did so pass, to the guests throughout-and to Agnes and Walter, for a considerable portion of it; and until the second little cloud we hinted at appeared on their horizon. It is too early, however, to think of that. It is yet distant.

CHAPTER XV.

It was rather a nervous thing for Walter-when he arrived somewhat early to dinner on the first day of the meeting, after having parted overnight with Agnes, as related to run the gauntlet of presentations, all to perfect strangers to him, which he was compelled to go through on his entrance. This ordeal over, however, as well as some minutes' conversation with Lord Ashborough (to whom, as to Lord Charles, Agnes had especially and warmly

introduced him, and whose simple, pleasant, friendly manner put him immediately at ease), Walter withdrew to a window, where Agnes, who was now seated, could not see him, to observe the company at his leisure; and to employ his eyes, unnoticed, in watching her whom he loved in this, to him, unfamiliar character.

He would rather have possessed her as she was, he thought at first; but when he saw her, sitting, talking, smiling there-so simple, so gentle, so unchanged even in a look-he blamed himself for the passing feeling. She was his own-little Agnes still, without a speck or stain; and as he recollected how entirely she was so, notwithstanding all the changes in her outward existence, and called to mind all that had passed last night, his chest expanded with gratitude and love and