inion."

"Well, Adele, I must go down again now. If you wish any advice at any
future time, such as it is, it is at your service. You are making `A
Bold Stroke for a Husband' that's certain. However, the title of
another play is `All's Well that Ends Well.'"

"Well, I will follow out your playing upon plays, Valerie, by saying
that with you `Love's Labour's Lost.'"

"Exactly," replied I, "because I consider it `Much Ado About Nothing.'"

The next day, Lionel came to bid me farewell, as he was returning to
Paris. During our sojourn at Madame Bathurst's, he had been down to see
his uncle, and had been very kindly received. I wrote to Madame
d'Albret, thanking her for her presents, which, valuable as they were, I
would not return after what she had said, and confided to Lionel a box
of the flowers in wax that I was so successful in imitating, and which I
requested her to put on her side table in remembrance of me. Mr Selwyn
sent the carriage at the time appointed, and we went down to Kew, where
I was as kindly received as before.

What Adele told me of the conversation between Caroline and her made me
watchful, and before our visit was out I had made up my mind that there
was a mutual feeling between her and young Mr Selwyn. When we were
going away, this was confirmed, but I took no notice. But, although I
made no remark, this commencement of an attachment between Caroline and
him occupied my mind during the whole of our journey to town.

In Caroline's position, I was not decided if I would encourage it and
assist it. Charles Selwyn was a gentleman by birth and profession, a
very good-looking and very talented young man. All his family were
amiable, and he himself remarkably kind-hearted and well-disposed. That
Caroline was not likely to return to her father's house, where I felt
assured that she was miserable, was very evident, and that she would
soon weary of the monotony of a school at her age was also to be
expected. There was, therefore, every probability that she would, if
she found an opportunity, run away, as she stated to me she would, and
it was ten chances to one that in so doing she would make an unfortunate
match, either becoming the prey of some fortune-hunter, or connecting
herself with some thoughtless young man.

Could she do better than marry Mr Selwyn? Certainly not. That her
father and mother, who thought only of dukes and earls, would give their
consent, was not very likely. Shoul