mpared, that she's no time for other
composition."

"Lady Mechlin, perhaps--she is a charming creature?"

Falkenstein shook his head. "Never could learn the simplest rule of
grammar. When she was engaged to Mechlin, she wrote her love-letters out
of 'Henrietta Temple,' and flattered him immensely by their pathos."

"Was there ever such a sarcastic creature!" cried Bella, reprovingly;
her interest rather flagged, since no man was the incognito author.
"Well, let me see: there is Rosa Temple--she is immensely intellectual."

"But immensely orthodox. Every minute of her life is spent in working
slippers and Bible markers for interesting curates. It is to be hoped
one of them may reward her some day, though, I believe, till they _do_
propose, she is in the habit of advocating priestly celibacy, by way of
assertion of her disinterestedness. No! Miss Cashranger, the talented
writer of 'Scarlet and White,' is not only of your acquaintance, but
your family."

"My family!" almost screamed Bella. "Good gracious, Mr. Falkenstein, is
it dear papa, or--or Augustus?"

The idea of the brewer, fat, and round, and innocent of literature as
one of his own teams, or of his son just plucked for his "smalls" at
Cambridge, for spelling Caesar, Sesar, sitting down to indite the pathos
and poetry of "Scarlet and White," was so exquisitely absurd that
Waldemar, forgetting courtesy, lay back in his arm-chair and laughed
aloud. The contagion of his ringing laugh was irresistible; Valerie
followed his example, and their united merriment rang in the astonished
ears of Miss Cashranger, who looked from one to the other in wrathful
surprise. As soon as he could control himself, Falkenstein turned
towards her with his most courteous smile.

"You will forgive our laughter, I am sure, when I tell you what I am
certain _must_ give you great pleasure, that the play you so warmly and
justly admire was written by your cousin."

Bella stared at him, her face scarlet, all the envy and reasonless spite
within her flaming up at the idea of her cousin's success.

"Valerie--Valerie," she stammered, "is it true? I had no idea she ever
thought of----"

"No," said Falkenstein, roused in his protegee's defence; "I dare say
you are astonished, as every one else would be, that any one so young,
and, comparatively speaking, so inexperienced as your cousin, should
have developed such extraordinary talent and power."

"Oh, of course--to be sure--yes," said Bel