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"But you have nothing to sit on." "It is pretty, I think," she says. "The duke," with a grave look, "gave it to me just two years after my son was born." "I was thinking about this impending lawsuit," he stammers, uneasily. "You know of it, of course? Yet why should I be blamed?".

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"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!" From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but flounces, frills, and furbelows,—three f's that are considered at the Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is not long."—As, for instance:— "It won't trouble us, not a bit," says Mrs. Geoffrey, rising with alacrity. "I shall love it, the floor is so nice and slippery. Can any one whistle?" "I am sure we shall all be very glad," she says, faintly, feeling herself bound to make some remark..