en one of those shallow, fashionable sentimentalists
who hang like Mahomed's coffin between earth and heaven, an eyesore unto
both. As it was, his modicum of talent made him a most pleasant man in
his own sphere--the drawing-room.

"Really," whispered the good, corpulent Dr. Ianson, who had been
laughing so much that he quite forgot dinner was behind time, "my dear
Miss Bowen, your friend is the most amusing, witty, delightful person.
It is quite a pleasure to have such a man at one's table."

"Quite a pleasure, indeed," echoed Mrs. Ianson, deeply thankful to
anything or anybody that stood in the breach between herself, her
husband, and the dilatory cook.

Agatha looked gratified and proud. Casting a shy glance towards where
her friend was talking to Emma Thomycroft and Miss Ianson, she met
the eye of the younger brother. It expressed such keen, though
grave observance of her, that she felt her cheeks warm into the old,
unbecoming, uncomfortable blush.

It was rather a satisfaction that, just then, they were summoned
to dinner; Major Harper, in his half tender, half paternal manner,
advancing to take her downstairs; which was his custom, when, as
frequently happened, Agatha Bowen was the woman he liked best in the
room. This was indeed his usual way in all societies, except when out of
kindliness of heart he now and then made a temporary sacrifice in favour
of some woman who he thought liked _him_ best. Though even in this case,
perhaps, he would not have erred, or felt that he erred, in offering his
arm to Agatha.

She looked happy, as any young girl would, in receiving the attentions
of a man whom all admired; and was quite contented to sit next to him,
listening while he talked cheerfully and brilliantly, less for her
personal, entertainment than that of the table in general. Which she
thought, considering the dulness of the Ianson circle, and that even her
own kind-hearted, long-known friend, Emma Thomycroft, was not the most
intellectual woman in the world,--showed great good nature on the part
of Major Harper.

Perhaps the most silent person at table was the younger brother, whose
Christian name Agatha did not know. However, hearing the Major call
him once or twice by an odd-sounding word, something like "Beynell" or
"Ennell," she had the curiosity to inquire.

"Oh, it is N. L.--his initials; which I call him by, instead of the
very ugly name his cruel godfathers and godmothers imposed upon him as a
life-