me gentlemen do not like to be inconvenienced, even in
their dressing-rooms.

But Colonel Damer was as unselfish as it was possible for an old Indian
to be.

"Of course it can," he replied. "Here (to the servant), just shoulder
that box, will you, and move it into the next room."

The man took up the article in question rather carelessly, and nearly
let it fall again. Mrs. Damer darted forward as if to save it.

"Pray put it down," she said, nervously. "I have no wish to have it
moved--I shall require it by-and-by; it will be no inconvenience--"

"Just as you like, dear," said Mrs. Clayton, who was becoming rather
tired of the little discussion. "And now take off your things, dear
Blanche, and let me ring for some tea."

Colonel Damer walked into his dressing-room and left the two ladies
alone. The remainder of the luggage was brought upstairs; the tea was
ordered and served, and whilst Mrs. Clayton busied herself in pouring it
out, Mrs. Damer sank back upon a sofa which stood by the fire, and
conversed with her cousin.

She had been beautiful, this woman, in her earlier youth, though no one
would have thought it to see her now. As Bella handed her the tea she
glanced towards the thin hand stretched out to receive it, and from
thence to the worn face and hollow eyes, and could scarcely believe she
saw the same person she had parted from three years before.

But she had not been so intimate with her of late, and she was almost
afraid of commenting upon her cousin's altered appearance, for fear it
might wound her; all she said was:

"You look very delicate still, dear Blanche; I was in hopes the change
to the Continent would have set you up and made you stronger than you
were when you left England."

"Oh, no; I never shall be well again," was Mrs. Damer's careless reply:
"it's an old story now, Bella, and it's no use talking about it. Whom
have you staying in the house at present, dear?"

"Well, we are nearly full," rejoined Mrs. Clayton. "There is my old
godfather, General Knox--you remember him, I know--and his son and
daughter; and the Ainsleys and their family; ditto, the Bayleys and the
Armstrongs, and then, for single men, we have young Brooke, and Harry's
old friend, Charley Moss, and Herbert Laurence, and--are you ill,
Blanchey?"

An exclamation had burst from Mrs. Damer--hardly an exclamation, so much
as a half-smothered cry--but whether of pain or fear, it was hard to
determine.

"Are you ill?"