A lovely light illuminated her face, and Maryllia looked at her very tenderly. Adderley was silent.

Nothing does one so much good as to be hurt,"-went on Cicely in a lighter tone-" You then become aware that you are a somebody whom other bodies envy. You never know how high you have climbed till you feel a few dirty hands behind you trying to pull you down! When I start my career as a singer, I shall not be satisfied till I get anonymous letters every morning, telling me what a fraud and failure I am. Then I shall realise that I am famous!"

"Alas!" said Julian with a comically resigned air-"I shall never be of sufficient importance for that! No one would waste a penny stamp on me! All I can ever hope to win is the unanimous abuse of the press. That will at least give me an interested public!"

They laughed.

"Is Mr. Marius Longford a great friend of yours?" enquired Maryllia.

"Ah, that I cannot tell!" replied Julian-" He may be friend, or he may be foe. He writes for a great literary paper -and is a member of many literary clubs. He has produced three books-all monstrously dull. But he has a Clique. Its members are sworn to praise Longford, or die. Indeed, if they do not praise Longford, they become mysteriously exterminated, like rats or beetles. I myself have praised Longford, lest I also get a dose of his unfailing poison. He will not praise me-but no matter for that. If he would only abuse me!—but he won't! His blame is far more valuable than his eulogy. At present he stands like a kind of neutral whipping-post-very much in my way!"

"He knows Lord Roxmouth, he tells me,"-went on Maryllia; whereat Cicely's sharp glance flashed at her inquisitively "Lord Roxmouth is by way of being a patron of the arts."

The tone of her voice, slightly contemptuous, was not lost on Adderley. He fancied he was on dangerous ground.

"I have never met Lord Roxmouth myself "-he said— "But I have heard Longford speak of him. Longford however rather makes' for society. I do not. Longford is quite at home with dukes and duchesses

"Or professes to be-" put in Maryllia, with a slight smile. "Or professes to be,-I accept the correction!" agreed Adderley.

"Personally, I know nothing of him," said Maryllia-"I

have never seen him at any of the functions in London, and I should imagine him to be a man who rather over-estimated himself. So many literary men do. That is why most of them are such terrible social bores."

"To the crime of being a literary man I plead not guilty!" and Julian folded his hands in a kind of mock-solemn appeal -"Moreover, I swear never to become one!"

"Good boy!" smiled Cicely-" Be a modern Pan, and run away from all the literary cliques, kicking up the dust behind you in their faces as you go! Roam the woods in solitude and sing!

"The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme,

The birds on the myrtle bushes,

The cicale above in the lime,

And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings!'"

"Ah, Shelley!" cried Adderley-" Shelley the divine! And how divinely you utter his lines! Do you know the last verse of that poem:-'I sang of the dancing stars'?"

Cicely raised her hand, commanding attention, and went

on:

"I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dædal Earth,

And of Heaven,-and the giant wars,
And Love and Death and Birth.

And then I changed my pipings,—
Singing, how down the vale of Menalus,
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed,
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed;
All wept, as I think both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings!""

"Beau-tiful!-beau-tiful!" sighed Adderley-"But so remote!-so very remote! Alas!-who reads Shelley now!" "I do" said Cicely-" Maryllia does. You do. And many more. Shelley didn't write for free-libraries and publichouses. He wrote for the love of Art,-and he was drowned. You do the same, and perhaps you'll be hung! It doesn't much matter how you end, so long as you begin to be something no one else can be.'

"You have certainly begun in that direction!" said Julian. Cicely shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know! I am myself. Most people try to be what they're not. Such a waste of time and effort! That's why I've taken a fancy to the parson I met this morning, Mr. Walden. He is himself and no other. He is as much himself as old Josey Letherbarrow is. Josey is an individuality. So is Mr. Walden. So is Maryllia. So am I. And "-here she pointed a witch-like finger at Adderley-" so would you be, if you didn't 'pose' as much as you do!"

"Cicely!" murmured Maryllia, warningly, though she smiled.

A slight flush swept over Adderley's face. But he took the remark without offence, thereby showing himself to be of better mettle than the little affectations of his outward appearance indicated.

"You think so?" he said, placidly-" That is very dear of you!-very young! You may be right-you may be wrong,— but from one so unsophisticated as yourself it is a proposition worth considering-to pose, or not to pose! It is so new-so fresh!"

XVI

WALDEN kept his promise and duly arrived to tea at

the Manor that afternoon. He found his hostess in the library with Cicely and Julian. She was showing to the latter one or two rare 'first editions,' and was talking animatedly, but she broke off her conversation the moment he was announced, and advanced to meet him with a bright smile.

"At last, Mr. Walden!" she said "I am glad Cicely has succeeded where I failed, in persuading you to accept the welcome that has awaited you here for some time!"

The words were gracefully spoken, with just the faintest trace of kindly reproach in their intonation. Simple as they were, they managed to deprive John of all power to frame a suitable reply. He bowed over the little white hand extended to him, and murmured something which was inaudible even to himself, while he despised what he considered his own foolishness, clumsiness and general ineptitude from the bottom of his heart. Maryllia saw his embarrassment, and hastened to relieve him of it.

"We have been talking books," she said, lightly-" Mr. Adderley has almost knelt in adoration before my Shakespeare 'first folio.' It is very precious, being uncalendared in the published lists of ordinary commentators. I suppose you have seen it?"

"Indeed I have "-replied Walden, as he shook hands with Cicely and nodded pleasantly to Julian-"I'm afraid, Miss Vancourt, that if you knew how often I have sat alone in this library, turning over the precious volumes, you might be very angry with me! But I have saved one or two from the encroaches of damp, such as the illuminated vellum 'Petrarch,' and some few rare manuscripts-so you must try to forgive my trespass. Mrs. Spruce used to let me come in and study here whenever I liked."

"Will you not do so still?" queried Maryllia, sweetly"I can promise you both solitude and silence."

Again a wave of awkwardness overcame him. What could he say in response to this friendly and gentle graciousness?

"You are very kind," he murmured.

"Not at all. The library is very seldom used-so the kindness will be quite on your side if you can make it of service. I daresay you know more about the books than I do. My father was very proud of them."

He had cause to be," said Walden, beginning to recover his equanimity and ease as the conversation turned into a channel which was his natural element-"It is one of the finest collections in England. The manuscripts alone are worth a fortune." Here he moved to the table where Adderley stood turning over a wondrously painted 'Book of Hours" "That is perfect_twelfth-century work "-he said-" There is a picture in it which ought to please Miss Cicely," and he turned the pages over tenderly "Here it is, the loveliest of Saint Cecilias, in the act of singing!"

Cicely smiled with pleasure, and hung over the beautifully illuminated figure, surrounded with angels in clouds of golden glory.

"There's one thing about Heaven which everybody seems agreed upon," she said "It's a place where we're all expected to sing!"

"Not a doubt of it!" agreed Walden-" You will be quite in your element!"

"The idea of Heaven is remote so very remote!" said Adderley-" But if such a place existed, and I were bound to essay a vocal effort there, I should transform it at once to Hell! The angels would never forgive me!"

They laughed.

"Let us go into the garden"-said Maryllia-"It is quite lovely just now,-there are such cool deep shadows on the lawn."

Cicely at once ran out, beckoning Adderley to follow. Maryllia tied on her hat with its pink strings and its bunch of pink hyacinths tumbling against her small shell-like ear, and looked up from under its brim with an entrancing smile. "Will you come, Mr. Walden?"

John murmured something politely inarticulate in assent. He was, as has already been stated, apt to be rather at a loss in the company of women, unless they were well-seasoned matrons and grandames, with whom he could converse on the most ordinary and commonplace topics, such as the curing of hams, the schooling of children, or the best remedies for rheumatism. A feminine creature who appeared to exist merely to fascinate the eye and attract the senses, moved him