ch so discomfited Anthony, came to Miss Valerie
French two letters, one at least of which must be set out.

_c/o Joseph Bumble, Esq.,
The Shrubbery,
Hawthorne._

_DEAR VAL,_

_Send your pal along. The Bumbles will jump at him. As for us, if our
present colleague wasn't under notice to leave, we should be. Of
course he can have his dog here. Haven't I got Jose? And if a
parlour-maid can keep one, d'autant plus a footman. Pending the
dismissal of the colleague referred to, Anne and I have to do more than
we should, and are a little bored with Life. George has the best time
with the car, but we make him help in the house. When are you coming
to Bell Hammer? George and I were there on Sunday, and it looks
topping._

_Love from us all,
BETTY._

The other dispatch was from Printing House Square. Its envelope, being
opened, was found to contain three other envelopes, each bearing the
same superscription, viz., "Box Y779, c/o _The Times_."

Valerie opened them eagerly.

They were, all three, applications for the post of a gentleman-footman.

After satisfying herself that no one of these was signed by Lyveden,
Valerie tossed them aside unread. Then she propped herself on her
elbow and poured out a cup of tea.

That Fate buffets her favourites is sometimes true. Here we catch the
baggage red-handed. With one cold relentless palm she threatens to
take from Anthony, who hath not, even that which he hath: with the
other she is strewing blossoms upon what is to be his path. With her
right hand she robs the beggar, with the left she prepares for him a
bed of roses.

The lady of Anthony's heart loved him. It is no good beating about the
bush. Pity may be akin to Love, but Interest is the boy's first
cousin. Whether her heart had leaped, when she saw him, is not for me
to say. She looked upon him, saw that he was good, made up her
mind--and that was settled. The fact that she immediately turned her
back upon him has nothing to do with the question, but may, if you
please, be construed as confirming her plight.

Had the round world been ten thousand years younger, when she and
Anthony looked the one upon the other in the garden of _The Leather
Bottel_, he would have put his arms about her, and she would have
suffered him, and there in the shadow of the little inn this tale would
have come to an end. That it did not so end then and there is the
fault partly of a crop of conventions, whi