plenty of briers besetting her path, I
should say; as the poet writes so feelingly, she has had more kicks
than halfpence," and as usual, when Marcus began to joke, Olivia took
the hint and left off questioning him.

The little parlour looked a haven of comfort to Robert Barton's eyes as
he entered it that afternoon, leaning on Dr. Luttrell's arm.

Olivia was sitting at needlework as usual, with Dot playing at her
feet, and sprawling on the rug in exact imitation of Jet the black
kitten; she rose at once with a bright, welcoming smile, and arranged
the cushions in the easy-chair.

"I daresay you are glad to be down again," she said, kindly, as Barton
sank back in them rather heavily; "but you must be careful, you are far
from strong yet."

"Thanks, I am tolerably fit," but the weak, shaking hand rather
contradicted this.

"Oh, what a pretty child! I should like to make a sketch of her. Will
you come to me, little one?" And Robert Barton's smile was so winning
that Dot crawled to him at once, and hauled herself up by the help of
one finger.

Olivia gave her husband a quick glance which he quite understood;
"there cannot be much harm in him if he likes children," this was what
her look meant, and even Marcus was touched and surprised when he saw
his little daughter put up her round face to be kissed, and then make
playful dabs at him.

"What a darling she is--rather like you, Mrs. Luttrell, but she has a
look of the doctor too. I have always been fond of children, they are
never afraid of me," and this speech completely won the young mother's
heart.

"He is really very distinguished-looking," she said to herself, as she
watched him playing with Dot; "he is dreadfully thin, and, of course,
Uncle Fergus's clothes are too big for him, but no one could help
seeing that he is a gentleman."

They began to talk presently in quite a friendly way, and after a time
Olivia said, quite simply:

"Your name is not really Robert Barton, is it?" She had blurted this
out almost without thinking.

"Well, no," he returned, reddening a little, "but I have been calling
myself by that name for the last month or two, it was handy," and his
face twitched. "I did not care to carry my father's name into the
places I have been obliged to frequent lately."

"You have a father then, Mr. Barton?" in an interested tone.

"Oh, yes, and a mother and a sister, though I have heard nothing of
them for half a dozen years."

"Oh, not