my darling Eugenie walk with her father in the Park this morning, before the heat comes on?"

"One moment, papa," said the young girl, quietly. "My husband was making an observation which he did not complete. You were saying, sir?"

"I don't know what I was saying," returned Mr. John Meyrick, yawning. "Whatever it was, I didn't say it to you, Madam Curiosity. I shall go in here, and have a cigar."

With these words, the young man rose, and entered the conservatory, where he could still be seen through the window-mirror, lolling among the flowers, and smoking.

"Papa," said Eugenie, looking at her father fixedly, and speaking in a low, earnest tone, "is it true, what that man said?"

"I am sure I don't know, my love," returned the other, carelessly; "it is perhaps as true as most gossip. I dare say the young fellow is tired of his vulgar toy by this time. They are also in debt, I believe. I have been in debt, myself, yet here I am, you see." He

looked around him upon the world of damask and gilding, and lace and crystal, with a triumphant air.

"The name, the name?" repeated she, impatiently. "Did I hear that name aright?"

"Yes," returned the old man, harshly. "I thought you knew."

"You thought I knew that Mary Perling was starving his own sister, the sister for whose sake he saved ours, and I here!"

'My dear child, people say 'starving' in this country when they speak of anybody who has less than five hundred a year, and lives at Somers Town."

She is as poor as ever she was, and worse, because they are over head and ears in debt,"" repeated Eugenie; "they have scarcely enough to eat at home' that is what he said."

'They want money, of course, my dear; everybody does, so far as I know."

"Mary Perling wants it, and we have it, papa-is that not so? This has been kept from me very cruelly."

The ordinarily unruffled brow of M. de Lernay grew

black with wrinkles.

"You have no right to spend your husband's money, Eugenie, in such a fashion."

"What! papa!" Her dark eyes glittered, but not with tears, her pale cheeks burned with shame, but not for herself. He rose, and stepping to the nearest looking-glass, attired his painted face in smiles again.

"My love, that is my own opinion, certainly," returned he gaily; "but I know so little of money matters, it is quite possible that I may be wrong."

“You are wrong, Monsieur de Lernay. Look you,” said she, "if one sells one's house, or land, or jewels to another, we do what we like with the proceeds; and if one sells one's self" (she touched the ring upon her finger scornfully), "do you mean to tell me that one may not spend the purchase-money as one will?"

CHAPTER II.

GATHERED THREADS.

WHAT was the precise nature of that high crime and misdemeanour for which Mr. John Meyrick had to leave college suddenly, there is no need to inquire. There are persons within everybody's circle of acquaintance who have had to do the like, without an explanation being offered, and I think we take an interest in them on that very account. Mystery lends its charm to the most commonplace of mortals, and since the young squire has but few intrinsic merits of his own, let him have the benefit of that. Whatever was his error, we may be sure that it was complicated by "drink." He was not the man, as the phrase goes, to set Cam or Isis on fire, but he may have attempted, in his cups, to set fire to Minim Hall. At all events,

that institution had declined to retain him any longer. He was not privately withdrawn-recommended change of air by his medical adviser-but downright expelled. The old Squire at Casterton, not a person of delicate organization, was grievously shocked. The Meyricks had never been a brilliant family; but his son and heir was the first of his race who had publicly disgraced himself, and given such credible promise of going to the dogs. When all persons connected with the young man were, as it were, turning up their coatsleeves, with the avowed intention of washing their hands of him, M. de Lernay came forward in the character of guardian angel. It was terrible that the prospects of a really well-meaning, though volatile young man should thus be blighted in the bud. There was only one way to keep him out of bad company, for which he had exhibited so overpowering a predilection he must marry some girl of good connexions at once, and so be surrounded by a ring-fence of the Best Society for the rest of his existence.

Such a sovereign remedy was not, of course, to be