took offence. Finding the place rather too hot for safety, Glynn and his new friend parted company, the former making his way to San Francisco, whence he sailed for Australia, where after various adventures he was agreeably surprised, by seeing an advertisement in the Times, requesting him to communicate with a well-known firm of solicitors in London. The result proved that his uncle, the late Sir Peter Gethin, had left him a handsome legacy.

The late Baronet had been a partner in a great banking and money-lending house; Glynn elected to let his capital remain invested in the concern. His varied experience in speculative communities, his knowledge of modern languages, and his training generally, made him a valuable acquisition to the firm, first as an employé, and after a few years as a junior partner. He was frequently despatched to conduct complicated transactions with foreign houses, to inquire into the validity of distant schemes, to test the practicality of proposed undertakings. He had thoroughly sown his wild oats, and had developed ambition, self-respect, self-confidence; but, unknown to himself, the spring of imaginative passion which had been the cause of all his misfortunes, and most of his pleasure, was only covered in, not exhausted, and lay there, ready to bubble up and well over into a strong current at the touch of the divining-rod.

Perhaps it was some hidden sympathy arising from this latent warmth that made him so great a favorite with his uncle's widow,—a shrewd worldly voltairean woman, well-born and well-bred,—who escaped from poverty and dependence by accepting the position of wedded nurse to the aged, gouty, city knight, Sir Peter Gethin.

It was long since Glynn had been so roused and interested, and the acquaintances on whom he called that afternoon, found him unusually animated and agreeable. All through a somewhat solemn dinner at the house of a great French banker, he was buoyed up by the prospect of the different kind of festivity which awaited him next day. There was something curiously stimulating in this encounter with his old Californian acquaintance thus swept into such incongruous surroundings by the eddying current, life's stream. How did he come to have such a daughter? What matter! enough that there would be so charming an ingredient in the morrow's pleasure. As for his own prudence, self-control, worldly wisdom—it never crossed his mind to doubt them. He would pose as a calm spectator, study the puzzle offered to his observation, and if necessary let Merrick or Lambert know the exact position of Deering should he ever cross their path.

The weather was still calm, bright, warm, when, having drawn a light paletôt over his evening dress, Glynn left his hotel, preferring to walk as he was in good time for dinner. At the corner of the Rue Castiglione he met Deering, who was coming leisurely from the opposite direction; they stopped to exchange a few words, and then Deering exclaimed, looking at his watch, "I did not know it was so late, I am to do duty, and escort my wife and her sister to the Opera Comique to-night, au revoir," and they parted.

"The Opera Comique," muttered Glynn, with a strong feeling of annoyance. "He will see his Auteuil attraction, and recognize me in attendance. The presence of such a father, too, will dispose him to believe it's a case of fair game; but after all, I have no right to think ill of Deering. There is a curious sort of fate about the whole affair. I am a fool to worry myself. I will try to enjoy the passing hour, and let omens and auguries alone."

On reaching his destination Glynn mounted to the third étage, and was admitted by a neat, black-eyed bonne, to a dimly lighted little vestibule, containing some oak-chairs and a small orange-tree in blossom, the perfume of which was almost overpowering.

"Enter then, Monsieur," said the servant, throwing open one of several doors on either side, and Glynn found himself in a pretty, pleasant salon and the presence of Miss Lambert; who, somewhat to his surprise, was in outdoor dress.

"My father will be here directly," she said, giving him her hand. "He has gone to fetch our friends, Madame and Mademoiselle Davilliers, for we have changed our plans; not being able to secure places at the Comique for to-night, we propose to drive through the bois and dine at the Café de Madrid. I hope this will be agreeable to you?"

"Any arrangement you make will be most agreeable to me!" said Glynn, indescribably relieved to find himself and her delivered from the possibilities of an encounter with Deering, and charmed with the unpretending refinement of her surroundings. The room was well but simply furnished, and innocent of the flashy finery which might have been looked for in an apartment where Lambert was master. Some small but good water-colors enlivened the walls, which were of a neutral tint; an open piano loaded with music; the stove converted into a stand for flowers; the furniture of carved oak and green velvet; a small basket work-table, overflowing with bright-colored wools and silk, some fine old china on the mantel-shelf; a vase or two on corner-brackets, formed a pleasant picture of comfort and occupation.

"You know the Café de Madrid, of course?" said Miss Lambert, when Glynn had taken a seat, as she put her music together and closed the piano.

"Yes, I know it well; it is a capital place to dine at."

"On such a fine evening it is delightful to be among the trees; they are quite green already, and there is a charming walk down to the river. We must try and persuade Madame Davilliers and the dear father to walk; do you mind walking after dinner?" She sat down suddenly while she spoke and looked straight at him gravely, as if it were a question of the last importance. "Does she think me an old fogy?" thought Glynn, and answered with a smile, "I have not yet reached that period of life when repose after eating is essential."

"No," still considering him gravely, "you are much younger than my father. When he spoke of you as a comrade I thought you must be about the same age. Is it long since you met?"

"Quite ten years."

"That is a long time. But my father is always young—I sometimes think he is younger than I am—nothing depresses him, he is so full of resource; and enjoys as if he were but five-and-twenty."

"Yes; I was always struck with his remarkable readiness. Do you remember America?"

"America? I never was in America. I was born in Australia, but my father——Ah! here he is," looking out of the window as the carriage was heard to stop. She took up her gloves, which were lying beside her sunshade, and began to put them on. In another moment the door opened to admit Lambert, who came in with an expression of radiant satisfaction.

"Glynn, my fine fellow! I am delighted to see you. Has my daughter told you we have changed our plans, and substituted a little dinner at the Madrid instead of baking ourselves at the Comique? All right, come along, Madame Davilliers and 'Toinette are waiting for us below; they have brought the cousin, young Henri Le Clerc, Elsie, and who should I stumble on just at the corner of the Rue d'Aguesseau, but Vincent, going to dine all alone by himself; so I made him jump up on the box. We'll be a nice little party; you ladies will have a cavalier apiece, and one to spare, that's myself; I am only a super nowadays; don't forget a wrap for coming home." Elsie locked the drawer of an ornamental bureau, put the key in her pocket, and declared herself ready; and Lambert led the way down-stairs. Arrived at the entrance, Glynn was duly presented to Madame and Mademoiselle Davilliers, in whom he recognized the ladies who were with Miss Lambert at Auteuil; they smiled and bowed most graciously, expressing their delight at M. Lambert's change of plans in rather shrill-toned raptures. After a little confusion it was settled that Mr. Vincent, a very elaborately got-up continentalized American, with fair hair, moustaches, and