round-shouldered. He was dark-complexioned, with a coarse clever mouth, and a good forehead.

Eyeglasses happened to be an affectation of the year among young lawyers. Mr. Sauls had a trick of dropping his when he was amused or excited, and opening his eyes, which would brighten as suddenly as an owl's when it startles you by lifting the dull film, and transfixing you by an uncomfortably "wide-awake" gaze.

He was perfectly aware that Meg had disliked him, and that he was changing her opinion, and entertaining her pretty successfully.

The more trouble he took, the more determined he became to make friends with this quixotic maiden, who fancied herself wildly democratic, and who was rather more fastidious in reality than any one he had met, saving the father she occasionally reminded him of.

He led the conversation away from abstract subjects after a time, and fell into two or three small errors, but had wit to see and cover them.

For example, he made a sharp remark at the expense of Mrs. Russelthorpe, whom he felt convinced Meg disliked. Meg raised her eyebrows, drew herself up, and snubbed the witticism.

"All these Deanes are d——d thin-skinned," he reflected, for more than once his own coarser nature had rasped and offended Meg's father, but he did not make that mistake again, and he admired the girl none the less for the rebuff.

He liked her pride, which was quite unconscious, and her inconsistencies amused him.

They looked down upon the waltz (which had only just come in, and which many people saw for the first time that night) from the picture gallery which runs round the great hall.

Mr. Sauls was content with that arrangement, Meg stood tapping her small foot in time to the music.

"Father does not like to see me dance anything but squares, unless it is with him," she said; and Mr. Sauls, following the direction of her wistful eyes, observed that "Mr. Deane approved waltzing only for other people's daughters," but, taught by experience, refrained from making his comment aloud.

He earned his partner's warm gratitude by relinquishing his claim to take her to supper, when (that fast innovation having whirled to its close) Meg's father actually remembered her; but later in the evening he discovered that she had had nothing to eat, and insisted on carrying her off and supplying her with chicken and ice cream as compensation for his former abnegation.

Supper was really over, and they were almost alone in the big dining-room.

Meg had a bright colour in her cheeks now, her eyes and lips both laughed, her spirits had gone up like quick-silver. Mr. Sauls had never seen any one change so quickly and completely; she was radiant for the moment, and joy is a great beautifier.

Her excitement was contagious. It did credit to the man's self-command that he managed to keep his admiration to himself; Meg would be hard to win he knew; he smiled, thinking how exceedingly astonished she would have been if she could have read his mind, and seen that he had set it hard on winning her.

On one point he did allow himself a slightly incautious question.

"Miss Deane," he said suddenly, "I haven't the faintest shadow of right to ask, but—have you come in for a million of money? Or is your worst enemy dead? Or what good fortune has befallen you since the beginning of this evening? There, I am quite at your mercy! I had no earthly business to inquire, only—I should so uncommonly like to know."

Meg laughed ruefully.

"How very bad I must be at keeping my own counsel," she said; "or else you must be very clever. Don't tell any one else, please, for it isn't quite settled yet. I asked my father to let me go with him. He is going abroad after the wedding. I want him to let me live with him altogether. It is so difficult to find father alone in the daytime, and that was why I was so very anxious to dance with him to-night. It is impossible to ask a favour with my—with some one else looking on." She paused a moment; then the pleasure of telling good news brought a still happier curve to her parted lips.

"Isn't it good of him?" she cried. "He has said yes."

"No! how remarkably kind!" said Mr. Sauls, a little drily; but this time Meg was quite unconscious of the possibility of sarcasm.

She enjoyed all the rest of the night with the keen power of enjoyment, that is perhaps some compensation for a keen susceptibility to pain; and when the guests had departed and the lights were all out in the hall, she ran up to her own room humming a dance as she ran.

"Meg is gay to-night," said her father, lifting her face by the chin, and kissing her on the landing. "Good-night, Peg-top; don't dance in your sleep! I wish you would always keep that colour."

"So I will when you take me to live with you," whispered Meg.

She put out her candle, and throwing open her window sat looking out down the moonlit road, spinning fancies as beautiful as moonbeams.

There was no touch of sentiment about them, for the habit she had of comparing the men she met to her father was always to their disadvantage. How very much handsomer, cleverer, and incomparably better he was than all the rest of his sex put together! How charming to keep house for him! How delightful to help him carry out all his ideas! How good she would be, even to Aunt Russelthorpe, when she entered into possession of her castle in the air! Her mood grew graver as she sat there like a ghost in the dark, watching the white clouds chase each other across the deep night sky. She remembered the preacher on the sands again and shivered, half frightened to think how his words had taken hold of her. "Thou who wast poor among men, and travel-stained and weary, shalt be our King."

What would the preacher have thought of them all to-night? What sort of discipleship was this? Meg involuntarily fingered the gleaming gold and white dress, which certainly seemed in pretty strong opposition to the ascetic side of religion.

"But when I live with father, he will explain everything and make things right," she repeated to herself. "Father" had no leisure to listen to her difficulties at present, but in the good time coming it would all be quite different; and in the meanwhile where he saw no harm of course there could be none. It is really such a great comfort to have a pope, that it is no wonder some women keep their eyes shut so long as they possibly can. "I shall read all the books he likes and become very clever, but not at all a 'blue-stocking,' because he doesn't like women who think they know as much as men," reflected Meg. "I shall be able to choose my own dresses, and I think I shall wear sky-blue, for it is his favourite colour. We'll spend very little on eating or drinking, because he doesn't really approve of luxury, and——Oh! what was that?"

She jumped up, rather startled and guilty. Had Aunt Russelthorpe divined her thoughts, and come to knock down her towering palace?

No; it was only Laura, in a dressing-gown, looking comfortably substantial and cheerful. Meg was surprised to see her, for the sisters did not often seek her society.

"I thought I should find you awake, Meg," said she. "Do, for goodness' sake! shut your window. What an uncomfortable child you are! Why, you have not even taken off your ball-room dress, and you have no candle! Don't look at me as if I were a ghost, please. I know it's an odd time of the night to choose, but I hardly ever see you alone in the day, and somehow I wanted to talk to you. Kate likes to have me to herself, you see."

"Yes, I know," said Meg rather sadly; for Kate was jealous of any claim on Laura's affection.

Laura sat down on the bed, resting her hands on her knees, and turning out her elbows. The attitude made her look squarer than ever; but there was an air of purpose about her set little figure that tickled Meg's fancy,—Meg's sighs and smiles were always near together!

"Oh!" she cried, laughing. "Even your shadow on the wall looks as if it had something