ding of this class
Ethelberta now bent her steps, and the crush of the season having
departed in the persons of three-quarters of the above-named visitors,
who went away by a coach, a van, and a couple of wagonettes one morning,
she found no difficulty in arranging for a red and yellow streaked villa,
which was so bright and glowing that the sun seemed to be shining upon it
even on a cloudy day, and the ruddiest native looked pale when standing
by its walls. It was not without regret that she renounced the sailor's
pretty cottage for this porticoed and balconied dwelling; but her lines
were laid down clearly at last, and thither she removed forthwith.

From this brand-new house did Ethelberta pen the letter fixing the time
at which she would be pleased to see Lord Mountclere.

When the hour drew nigh enormous force of will was required to keep her
perturbation down. She had not distinctly told Picotee of the object of
the viscount's visit, but Picotee guessed nearly enough. Ethelberta was
upon the whole better pleased that the initiative had again come from him
than if the first step in the new campaign had been her sending the
explanatory letter, as intended and promised. She had thought almost
directly after the interview at Rouen that to enlighten him by writing a
confession in cold blood, according to her first intention, would be
little less awkward for her in the method of telling than in the facts to
be told.

So the last hair was arranged and the last fold adjusted, and she sat
down to await a new page of her history. Picotee sat with her, under
orders to go into the next room when Lord Mountclere should call; and
Ethelberta determined to waste no time, directly he began to make
advances, in clearing up the phenomena of her existence to him; to the
end that no fact which, in the event of his taking her to wife, could be
used against her as an example of concealment, might remain unrelated.
The collapse of his attachment under the test might, however, form the
grand climax of such a play as this.

The day was rather cold for the season, and Ethelberta sat by a fire; but
the windows were open, and Picotee was amusing herself on the balcony
outside. The hour struck: Ethelberta fancied she could hear the wheels
of a carriage creeping up the steep ascent which led to the drive before
the door.

'Is it he?' she said quickly.

'No,' said Picotee, whose indifference contrasted strangely with the
restlessnes