ve with young ladies who consider
themselves their superiors.'

'If you will tell me your story, Nita, I will forgive you all the rest,
and finish this sketch of Abertewey for Colonel Vaughan, meanwhile.'

Freda drew well in water-colours, and had before her, as she sat in the
embrasure of one of the windows of that charming morning-room, a
half-finished sketch of Colonel Vaughan's place, which he had begged her
to take for him. Hitherto it had been untouched; now she began to work
at it with pretended vigour, whilst Miss Hall took up the little frock
she was making for a poor child, which had been laid down during the
discussion, and also made believe to stitch and sew industriously.

But there was a flush on her cheek, and a tremor in her voice, as she
began to tell Freda the little passage in her life to which she had
alluded. Freda was conscious of this, and accordingly devoted herself
more energetically to her drawing.

'It was when I was just eighteen, Freda, and during my _beaux jours_,
before my father had lost his fortune, or been obliged to retire from
the army on half-pay on account of that dreadful paralytic
stroke--before my sister's imprudent marriage, and consequent emigration
to Australia--before my dear mother's death. We were a happy and gay
family, and I had then more pride and higher spirits than you would
probably give me credit for now.

'I was visiting a friend who had married the head-master of one of our
principal grammar schools. Amongst his tutors there was a young man of
whom he was very fond, and who used to be a good deal with his family
after the duties of the day were over. It is just possible that he was a
countryman of yours, for his name was Jones.'

'Oh, Serena! you don't mean to say that you fell in love with a Jones in
England, and then came into Wales to be in the midst of that very
ancient and numerous family.'

'I have not come to the love part yet, Freda. He was a very quiet and
unobtrusive person, but, my friends said, very amiable and sufficiently
clever. I know that I used to take an unkind delight in teasing him, and
that he was rather clever in repartee, and never spared me in return. I
liked him as an amusing companion, and had no objection to his getting
me books or flowers, or whatever lay within his reach that might be
agreeable to me. Moreover, I pitied him, because I was told that both
his parents were dead, and that he was working hard to pay for his own
cour