reiterated Mrs. Clayton, full of anxiety for her
fragile-looking cousin.

"No," replied Blanche Damer, pressing her hand to her side, but still
deadly pale from the effect of whatever emotion she had gone through;
"it is nothing; I feel faint after our long journey."

Colonel Damer had also heard the sound, and now appeared upon the
threshold of his dressing-room. He was one of those well-meaning, but
fussy men, who can never have two women alone for a quarter of an hour
without intruding on their privacy.

"Did you call, my dearest?" he asked of his wife. "Do you want
anything?"

"Nothing, thank you," replied Bella for her cousin; "Blanche is only a
little tired and overcome by her travelling."

"I think, after all, that I will move that trunk away for you into my
room," he said, advancing towards the box which had already been the
subject of discussion. Mrs. Damer started from the sofa with a face of
crimson.

"I _beg_ you will leave my boxes alone," she said, with an imploring
tone in her voice which was quite unfitted to the occasion. "I have not
brought one more than I need, and I wish them to remain under my own
eye."

"There must be something very valuable in that receptacle," said Colonel
Damer, facetiously, as he beat a retreat to his own quarters.

"Is it your linen box?" demanded Mrs. Clayton of her cousin.

"Yes," in a hesitating manner; "that is, it contains several things that
I have in daily use; but go on about your visitors, Bella: are there any
more?"

"I don't think so: where had I got to?--oh! to the bachelors: well,
there are Mr. Brooke and Captain Moss, and Mr. Laurence (the poet, you
know; Harry was introduced to him last season by Captain Moss), and my
brother Alfred; and that's all."

"A very respectable list," said Mrs. Damer, languidly. "What kind of a
man is the--the poet you spoke of?"

"Laurence?--oh, he seems a very pleasant man; but he is very silent and
abstracted, as I suppose a poet should be. My sister Carrie is here, and
they have quite got up a flirtation together; however, I don't suppose
it will come to anything."

"And your nursery department?"

"Thriving, thank you; I think you _will_ be astonished to see my boy.
Old Mrs. Clayton says he is twice the size that Harry was at that age;
and the little girls can run about and talk almost as well as I can. But
I must not expect you, Blanche, to take the same interest in babies that
I do."

This she added, remember