of Naples listening to
them."

And a wild tumultuous laugh now convulsed the company, and Cutbill,
himself overwhelmed by the absurdity, rushed to the door, and made his
escape without waiting for more.

CHAPTER XIII. AT THE COTTAGE.

Julia L'Estrange was busily engaged in arranging some flowers in certain
vases in her little drawing-room, and, with a taste all her own, draping
a small hanging lamp with creepers, when Jack Bramleigh appeared at the
open window, and leaning on the sill, cried out, "Good-morning."

"I came over to scold you, Julia," said he. "It was very cruel of you
to desert us last evening, and we had a most dreary time of it in
consequence."

"Come round and hold this chair for me, and don't talk nonsense."

"And what are all these fine preparations for? You are decking out your
room as if for a village fete," said he, not moving from his place nor
heeding her request.

"I fancy that young Frenchman who was here last night," said she,
saucily, "would have responded to my invitation if I had asked him to
hold the chair I was standing on."

"I've no doubt of it," said he, gravely. "Frenchmen are vastly more
gallant than we are."

"Do you know, Jack," said she again, "he is most amusing?"

"Very probably."

"And has such a perfect accent; that sort of purring French one only
hears from a Parisian?"

"I am charmed to hear it."

"It charmed me to hear it, I assure you. One does so long for the
sounds that recall bright scenes and pleasant people: one has such a
zest for the most commonplace things that bring back the memory of very
happy days."

"What a lucky Frenchman to do all this!"

"What a lucky Irish girl to have met with him!" said she, gayly.

"And how did you come to know him, may I ask?"

"George had been several times over to inquire after him, and out of
gratitude Count Pracontal,--I am not sure that he is count though, but
it is of no moment,--made it a point to come here the first day he was
able to drive out. Mr. Longworth drove him over in his pony carriage,
and George was so pleased with them both that he asked them to tea last
evening, and they dine here to-day."

"Hence these decorations?"

"Precisely."

"What a brilliant neighborhood we have! And there are people will tell
you that this is all barbarism here."

"Come over this evening, Jack, and hear M. Pracontal sing--he has
a delicious tenor voice--and you 'll never believe in that story of
barbaris