y
eyed him curiously.

"You will not write, I hope? Dr. Keppler told me to-night that your
cerebral symptoms interdicted any prolonged mental strain."

"I must consult a few papers," responded Mr. Rightbody curtly, as he
entered his library.

It was a richly-furnished apartment, morbidly severe in its decorations,
which were symptomatic of a gloomy dyspepsia of art, then quite
prevalent. A few curios, very ugly, but providentially equally rare,
were scattered about. There were various bronzes, marbles, and casts,
all requiring explanation, and so fulfilling their purpose of promoting
conversation, and exhibiting the erudition of their owner. There were
souvenirs of travel with a history, old bric-a-brac with a pedigree,
but little or nothing that challenged attention for itself alone. In all
cases the superiority of the owner to his possessions was admitted. As
a natural result, nobody ever lingered there, the servants avoided the
room, and no child was ever known to play in it.

Mr. Rightbody turned up the gas, and from a cabinet of drawers,
precisely labelled, drew a package of letters. These he carefully
examined. All were discolored, and made dignified by age; but some, in
their original freshness, must have appeared trifling, and inconsistent
with any correspondent of Mr. Rightbody. Nevertheless, that gentleman
spent some moments in carefully perusing them, occasionally referring
to the telegram in his hand. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Mr. Rightbody started, made a half-unconscious movement to return the
letters to the drawer, turned the telegram face downwards, and then,
somewhat harshly, stammered,--

"Eh? Who's there? Come in."

"I beg your pardon, papa," said a very pretty girl, entering, without,
however, the slightest trace of apology or awe in her manner, and taking
a chair with the self-possession and familiarity of an habitue of the
room; "but I knew it was not your habit to write late, so I supposed you
were not busy. I am on my way to bed."

She was so very pretty, and withal so utterly unconscious of it, or
perhaps so consciously superior to it, that one was provoked into a
more critical examination of her face. But this only resulted in a
reiteration of her beauty, and perhaps the added facts that her dark
eyes were very womanly, her rich complexion eloquent, and her chiselled
lips fell enough to be passionate or capricious, notwithstanding that
their general effect suggested neith