recollection, Mollie began to giggle, and finally both she and Waveney became so hysterical with suppressed mirth that they had almost to stifle themselves in the cushions for fear Noel should hear them.

For it was only lately that they had become acquainted with the dark and Machiavellian policy of that artful youth. Evening after evening, as they had exchanged their girlish confidences, Noel had sat by them with a stolid and abstracted look, apparently drawing pen-and-ink devils—a favourite amusement of his; but it was Mollie who found him out.

"The Adventures of Waveney Edna Ward, alias Storm and Stress," was scrawled on the title-page, and thereupon followed a series of biographical sketches, profusely illustrated.

"Storm and Stress with the Bull of Bashan"—a singularly graphic description of Waveney's terror at meeting an angry cow in the lane.

"No. II.—Storm and Stress. Saving an Orphan's Life—the Orphan being a deserted, half-starved kitten, now an elderly cat rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Muggins;" and so on. Every little incident touched up or finely caricatured in a masterly manner.

Père Ward had been so charmed with this manifestation of his son's talent that he had carried off the note-book and locked it up amongst his treasures. "That boy will make his mark," he would say, proudly. "But we must give him plenty of scope." And, indeed, it could not be denied that Noel had a fairly long tether.

As soon as Waveney could recover herself, she sat up and rebuked Mollie severely for her levity; "for how is a person to talk while you are cackling in that ridiculous manner? And it is really quite an interesting adventure, and"—with an important air—"it is to be continued in our next." And this sounded so mysterious that Mollie wiped her eyes and consented to be serious.

"Well, you know," began Waveney, in a delightfully colloquial manner, "father had told me to take the omnibus that would put me down at King's Street. All the outside places were taken, but there was only the usual fat woman with bundle and baby inside; and presently a gentleman got in. You know I always make a point of noticing my fellow passengers, as dad says it helps to form a habit of observation; so I at once took stock of our solitary gentleman.

"He was a little dark man, very swarthy and foreign looking, and he wore an oddly-shaped peaked sort of hat—rather like Guy Fawkes' without the feather—and he had a black moustache that was very stiff and fierce, so of course I made up my mind that he was a Frenchman, and probably an artist; for, though his clothes were good, he had rather a Bohemian look." Here Waveney paused, but Mollie gave her a nudge.

"Go on, Wave. I am beginning to feel interested. Was he really French?"

"Not a bit of it, my dear, for he talked the most beautiful English; and directly he opened his mouth I found out he was a gentleman, for his voice was perfectly cultured and so pleasant. I rather took to him because he was so kind to the fat woman; he held her bundle while she and her baby got out, and he scolded the conductor for hurrying her. I thought that rather nice of him; so few young men trouble themselves about fat women and babies."

"Oh! he was young?" in an appreciative tone.

"Well, youngish; two or three and thirty, perhaps. But now I am coming to the critical point of my story. Directly we were left alone the conductor came to ask for our fares; he was a surly-looking man, with a red face, and his manner was not over civil; most likely he resented the scolding about the fat woman.

"Well, no sooner had Monsieur put his hand in his pocket than he drew it out again with a puzzled look.

"'Some one has picked my pocket,' he said, out loud, but he did not look so very much disturbed. 'My sovereign purse has gone, and some loose silver as well.' And then he searched his other pockets, and only produced a card-case and some papers; and then he began to laugh in rather an embarrassed way. 'My good fellow, you see how it is; the beggars have cleaned me out. Five or six pounds gone. Confound those light-fingered gentry! If I had not left my watch at the maker's it would have gone, too.'

"'That is all very well,' returned the conductor, in a disagreeable voice, 'but what I wants to know, sir, is how am I to get my fare?'

"'Oh, you will get it right enough," replied Monsieur (but he was not Monsieur at all, only the name suited him); 'but for the present I can only offer you my card;' and then he held it out with such a pleasant smile that it might have softened half-a-dozen conductors. But old Surly Face was not so easily mollified.

"'I don't want your bit of pasteboard,' he growled. 'Do you call yourself a gentleman to ride in a public conveyance without paying your fare?'

"Then the motto of the Wards flashed into my mind, 'Open hand, good luck,' and the next minute I produced a sixpence from my purse—there were just two sixpences in it.

"'Will you allow me to offer you this?' I said, in my grandest manner; but I felt a little taken aback when he lifted his hat and beamed at me. I say beamed, for it was really the most friendly, jovial smile; his whole face quite crinkled up with it.

"'I could not refuse such a good Samaritan. A thousand thanks for your kind loan. There, sir,' handing over the sixpence, sternly, 'give me the change and next time keep a civil tongue in your head.' And then, greatly to my surprise, he pocketed the threepence.

"'I am in your debt for a whole sixpence,' he continued, 'and I am as grateful to you as though you had returned my missing sovereigns. Is it not Kingsley who points out the beauty and grace of helping "lame dogs over stiles?" Now will you add to your kindness by informing me of your name and address?'

"I stared at him blankly, and I am afraid I blushed.

"'There is no occasion,' I said, feebly, at last. 'Sixpence is not a great sum, and I was very glad to be of service;' for I could not help feeling how absurd it was, making so much of a trifle. But Monsieur seemed indignant at this.

"'I could not be in debt to any young lady even for sixpence,' he said, severely. 'I was too well brought up for that.' And then of course I was obliged to tell him where I lived; and he actually made me repeat it twice, he was so anxious to remember it.

"'Miss Ward, 10 Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea,' he observed. 'Why, that is just opposite the Hospital. I know it well. Strange to say, I am staying in Chelsea myself.' Then he took out his card-case, hesitated, and grew rather red, and finally put it back in his pocket. 'My name is Ingram,' he said, rather abruptly; and then the omnibus stopped, and he handed me out.

"'I must be in your debt until to-morrow, I fear,' were his parting words—and oh, Mollie, do you really think that he will actually call and pay the sixpence?"

"Of course he will, and of course he ought," returned Mollie, excitedly. "Oh, Wave, what an adventure! It was just like a bit in a novel when the hero meets the heroine—only an omnibus is the last place for a romance." Then Waveney made a face.

"No, no, Mollie, little dark Frenchified men are not my taste, even if they have nice voices. My private hero must be very different from Monsieur Blackie." Then a crackling laugh from behind the sofa made both the girls jump up in affright, and the next moment Waveney looked not unlike her soubriquet, as, uttering dire threats of vengeance, she flew round and round the room after the treacherous eavesdropper, until Noel, exhausted by laughter, subsided into a corner and submitted to be shaken.

"'Monsieur Blackie, to be continued in our next,'" exclaimed the incorrigible lad, when Waveney grew weary with her punitive exertions. "My word, there must be a new note-book for this. 'Storm and Stress enacting the part of Good Samaritan';" and here Noel fairly crowed himself out of the room.

"He has heard every word," observed Waveney, in a dejected tone. "I am afraid we laughed too loud, and