desk the
letter which she had that morning received, threw herself into an
armchair, and studied the document profoundly. Her actual revision and
scrutiny of the letter itself was interrupted by long intervals of
profound abstraction; and, after a full hour thus spent, she locked it
carefully up again, and with a clear brow, and a gay smile, rejoined her
pretty pupil for a walk.

We must now pass over an interval of a few days, and come at once to the
arrival of Sir Wynston Berkley, which duly occurred upon the evening of
the day appointed. The baronet descended from his chaise but a short
time before the hour at which the little party, which formed the family
at Gray Forest were wont to assemble for the social meal of supper. A few
minutes devoted to the mysteries of the toilet, with the aid of an
accomplished valet, enabled him to appear, as he conceived, without
disadvantage at this domestic reunion.

Sir Wynston Berkley was a particularly gentleman-like person. He was
rather tall, and elegantly made, with gay, easy manners, and something
indefinably aristocratic in his face, which, however, was a little more
worn than his years would have strictly accounted for. But Sir Wynston
had been a roue, and, spite of the cleverest possible making up, the
ravages of excess were very traceable in the lively beau of fifty.
Perfectly well dressed, and with a manner that was ease and gaiety
itself, he was at home from the moment he entered the room. Of course,
anything like genuine cordiality was out of the question; but Mr. Marston
embraced his relative with perfect good breeding, and the baronet
appeared determined to like everybody, and be pleased with everything. He
had not been five minutes in the parlor, chatting gaily with Mr. and Mrs.
Marston and their pretty daughter, when Mademoiselle de Barras entered
the room. As she moved towards Mrs. Marston, Sir Wynston rose, and,
observing her with evident admiration, said in an undertone, inquiringly,
to Marston, who was beside him--

"And this?"

"That is Mademoiselle de Barras, my daughter's governess, and Mrs.
Marston's companion," said Marston, drily.

"Ha!" said Sir Wynston; "I thought you were but three at home just now,
and I was right. Your son is at Cambridge; I heard so from our old
friend, Jack Manbury. Jack has his boy there too. Egad, Dick, it seems
but last week that you and I were there together."

"Yes," said Marston, looking gloomily into the fire, as if