inding his brother, and madame tires even of the gentle
promenade.

But the next morning her star is surely in the ascendant. Cecil sleeps
late. Floyd is down on the porch, reading and smoking, when the flutter
of a diaphanous robe, with billowy laces, attracts his eyes and he
smiles an invitation.

"Shall I intrude?" The voice is soft, with a half-entreaty almost as
beguiling as Cecil's.

"Indeed, no." There is something wistful in her face, and he gives a
graceful invitation with his hand to a seat beside him. She is so
royally beautiful this morning, with her fresh, clear skin, the
rose-tint on her cheek, her deep, dewy eyes, that still have a
slumbrous light in them, the exquisite turn of the throat, and the
alluring smile.

"Do you know," she begins, in the seductive tone to which one can but
choose to listen,--"do you know that if you had not the burden of Atlas
upon your shoulders, I should feel tempted to add just a very little to
a smaller burthen."

"My shoulders are broad, you see," and he laughs with an unusual
lightness. Somehow he feels happy this morning, as if it was to be a
fortunate day. "You have been so kind to Laura, that if we could do
anything in return----"

"Oh, women take naturally to weddings, you know! And Laura is such a
sweet girl, but so young! I seem ages older. And, shall I come to the
point,--I want to establish myself. I cannot always be accepting the
hospitality of my dearest friends, and I have a longing for a home. You
see American ways have spoiled me already." And she raises her deep,
languorous eyes.

"A home?"

"Yes." She laughs a little now. "And I need some sort of banking
arrangement, as well as security for valuable papers. I am quite a
stranger, you know, and have no relatives."

"Well, you must take us," he answers, in a frank way. "You do not mean
a home quite by yourself?"

"Why not? I am tired of hotels and rooms. I want a pretty place, with
some congenial friend, where I can call together choice spirits,
musical, literary, and artistic, where I can be gay or quiet, read the
livelong day if I like." And she smiles again, with an enchanting
grace. "I suppose New York would be better for winter. I should have
dear Laura to commence with, and not feel quite so lonely. You see,
now, I really do want to be anchored to some sort of steadfastness, to
do something with my life and my means, even if it is only making a
pretty and congenial place in the world where