ove all,
remember, that if we decide to go on to Rome, that I'm not bound to it
in the least, and he must new-carpet that large drawing-room, and I must
have the little boudoir hung in blue, with muslin over it, not pink.
Pink is odious, except in a dressing-room. You will yourself look to
the stables; they require considerable alteration, and there's something
about the dining-room--what was it?--Lord Lackington will remember it.
But perhaps I have given you as many directions as your head will bear."

"I almost think so too, my Lady," muttered he, with a half-dogged look.

"And be sure, Spicer, that we have that cook--Antoine--if we should want
him. Don't let him take a place till we decide where we shall stop."

"You are aware that he insists on a hundred and fifty francs a month,
and his wine."

"I should like to know what good you are, if I am to negotiate with
these creatures myself!" said she, haughtily. "I must say, Lady Grace
will suspect that I have rather overrated your little talents, Spicer."
And Lady Grace gave a smile that might mean any amount of approval or
depreciation required. "I shall not want that saddle now, and you must
make that man take it back again."

"But I fear, my Lady----"

"There, don't be tiresome! What is that odious bell? Oh, it's the dinner
of these creatures. You dine at the table d'hote, I think, so pray don't
let us keep you. You can drop in to-morrow. Let me see, about two, or
half-past. Good-by--good-by."

And so Mr. Spicer retired. The bow Lady Grace vouchsafed being in
reality addressed rather to one of the figures on her fan than to
himself.

"One gets a habit of these kind of people," said Lady Lackington, as the
door closed after him; "but really it is a bad habit."

"I think so too," said Lady Grace, languidly.

"To be sure, there are now and then occasions when you can't employ
exactly a servant. There are petty negotiations which require a certain
delicacy of treatment, and there, they are useful. Besides," said
she, with a half-sneering laugh, "there's a fashion in them, and, like
Blenheim spaniels, every one must have one, and the smaller the better!"

"Monsignore Clifford my Lady, to know if you receive," said a servant,
entering.

"Oh, certainly. I'm charmed, my dear Grace, to present to you the most
agreeable man of all Rome. He is English, but 'went over,' as they call
it, and is now high in the Pope's favour."

These words, hurriedly uttered as the