em it. He mistook slang for
wit, told stories that made his wife shudder, and misbehaved himself as
only such a man can do.

Basil looked at him in dismay. Could it be possible that this man was
the husband of that queen of beauty? What a life for her! No wonder she
looked sad as she sat listening to him! The young man's heart ached for
her.

"Are you engaged this evening?" asked Lord Lisle; "if not, dine with us.
I expect Sir Harry Vere, and he is the most amusing character I know."

He would have refused, but that he met the imploring glance of Lady
Amelie's eyes.

"I will come with pleasure," he replied; and her eyes thanked him.

Then Lord Lisle, thinking he had been most amiable and charming, rose
from his chair and quitted the room. In some vague, indistinct way the
atmosphere seemed clearer after he had gone.

Lady Amelie made no comment; a woman less gifted than herself might have
done so; she merely raised her hands and eyes and gave one deep sigh.
Will you believe me that that sigh meant more than any other woman could
have put into words? It meant "Pity me! see how I am wasted on this boor
of a man! think how uncongenial he is, how wretched I am."

No one could sigh so effectively as Lady Amelie Lisle; thus it was with
difficulty she refrained from smiling. Basil looked so wretchedly
anxious and uncomfortable, she saw that he was longing to say something,
but dare not.

"I shall not be five minutes," she said, with a graceful little smile;
"and then we can spend a long hour with the pictures."

CHAPTER XII.

Caught in the Snare.

The first part of that hour was charming. Basil never forgot it; the
rooms were not crowded, the pictures beautiful, and Lady Amelie in one
of her most graceful moods. They both stood before a little gem by one
of our first English artists, called "The Coquette's Decision," a very
pretty picture that told its own story. A young girl, standing, half
hesitating between two gentlemen. They looked anxious, she smiling and
triumphant. She inclined ever so little to the fair-haired youth on the
right, her eyes and lips smiling on him, but her hand was extended to
his dark-haired rival on the left.

"I do not like that kind of picture," said Basil, "it lowers one's ideal
of woman. I do not think there is one-half so much coquetry in the world
as people would make you believe."

"Perhaps you never knew a coquette," she said; and the look she gave him
from underneath