ey ought to know that she had a
superfluity of much finer jewels than any they could give her.

"Don't you want to see your presents?" asked Rorie, looking at her, in
half-stupid wonder at such calm superiority.

"They will keep till we have done tea. I can guess pretty well what
they are like. How many church-services have people sent me, mamma?"

"I think the last made fourteen," murmured the Duchess, trifling with
her tea-spoon.

"And how many 'Christian Years'?"

"Nine."

"And how many copies of Dore's 'Idylls of the King'?"

"One came this morning from Mrs. Scobel. I think it was the fifth."

"How many lockets inscribed with A. E. I. or 'Mizpah'?"

"My darling, I could not possibly count those. There were three more by
post this morning."

"You see there is rather a sameness in these things," said Lady Mabel;
"and you can understand why I am not rabidly curious about the contents
of these parcels. I feel sure there will be another 'Mizpah' among
them."

She had received Lord Mallow's tribute, an Irish jaunting-car, built
upon the newest lines, and altogether a most perfect vehicle for
driving to a meet in, so light and perfectly balanced as to travel
safely through the ruttiest glade in Mark Ash.

Rorie's gifts had all been given, so Lady Mabel could afford to make
light of the unopened parcels without fear of wounding the feelings of
anyone present.

They were opened by-and-by, when the Duke came in from his farm, sorely
disturbed in his mind at the serious indisposition of a
six-hundred-guinea cart-horse, which hapless prize animal had been
fatted to such an inflammatory condition that in his case the commonest
ailment might prove deadly. Depressed by this calamity, the Duke
required to be propped up with sherry and Angustura bitters, which
tonic mixture was presently brought to him by one of the match footmen,
who looked very much as if he were suffering from the same plethoric
state that was likely to prove fatal to the cart-horse. Happily, the
footman's death would be but a temporary inconvenience. The Duke had
not given six hundred guineas for him.

Lady Mabel opened her parcels, in the hope of distracting her father
from the contemplation of his trouble.

"From whom can this be?" she asked wonderingly, "with the Jersey
post-mark? Do I know anyone in Jersey?"

Roderick grew suddenly crimson, and became deeply absorbed in the
business of peeling a nectarine.

"I surely cannot know anyone