ongly upon him he was
kept waiting like a lackey!

"I don't think I ought to stoop to this," muttered he, bitterly, to
himself; and taking a card and a pencil from his pocket, he wrote: "The
Rev. George L'Estrange has waited from two to three o'clock in the hope
of seeing Lady Augusta Bramleigh; he regrets the disappointment, as well
as his inability to prolong his attendance." "There," cried he, aloud, "I
hope that will do!" and he placed the card conspicuously on the table.

"Do what, pray?" said a very soft voice, as a slight figure in deep
mourning swept noiselessly into the kiosk, and taking the card up sat
down without reading it.

One glance showed that the handsome woman before him was Lady Augusta,
and the bashful curate blushed deeply at the awkwardness of his
position.

"Mr. L'Estrange, I presume?" said she, waving her hand to him to be
seated. "And what is your card to do; not represent you, I hope, for I
'd rather see you in person?"

"In my despair of seeing your Ladyship I wrote a line to say--to
say"--and he blundered and stopped short.

"To say you 'd wait no longer," said she, smiling; "but how touchy you
must be. Don't you know that women have the privilege of unpunctuality?
don't you know it is one of the few prerogatives you men have spared
them? Have you breakfasted?"

"Yes--some hours ago."

"I forget whether I have not also. I rather think I did take some
coffee. I have been very impatient for your coming. Sit here, please,"
said she, pointing to an armchair beside her own sofa. "I have been
very impatient indeed to see you. I want to hear all about these poor
Bramleighs; you lived beside them, did n't you, and knew them all
intimately? What is this terrible story of their ruin? this claim to
their property? What does it mean? is there really anything in it?"

"It is somewhat of a long story," began L'Estrange.

"Then don't tell it, I entreat you. Are you married, Mr. L'Estrange?"

"No, madam, I have not that happiness," said he, smiling at the strange
abruptness of her manner.

"Oh, I am so glad," she cried; "so glad! I 'm not afraid of a parson,
but I positively dread a parson's wife. The parson has occasionally a
little tolerance for a number of things he does n't exactly like; his
wife never forgives them; and then a woman takes such exact measure of
another woman's meanings, and a man knows nothing about them at all:
that on the whole I 'm delighted you are single, and I ferve