Foreign Egg Committee. All wore an air of repose, which was rudely dispelled by the entry of the son of the house, and his abrupt declaration that he must go to Italy.

"Is Irvine ill?" cried his mother.

stopped in some confusion.

"No, he is well enough," said Ned; "but perhaps I had better read you these letters," and he pulled them out of his pocket. As it became clear to Lady Harefel that her nephew was in the toils of a designing woman, her face assumed an expression of profound regret, tempered by a secret satisfaction. Miss Susan was so busy filling in details of the romance, and painting the southern sky a deeper blue, that she had scarcely time to hope that Irvine would behave badly in the judgment of the cruel world. This lady, who would carry out an elaborate scheme for transferring a caterpillar from the gravel to a neighbouring shrub, had a latent tenderness for the poetic hero who absorbs a maiden's love for his own culture, and, after a passionate farewell, leaves the maiden to die by the Italian sea. She imagined Irvine shaking his bridle-rein, and thought how tenderly she would rebuke his roving fancy. In both ladies there was

an excitement not wholly painful. Indeed, the probability of a marriage in the family was so interesting, that it may well be doubted whether, if Ned Harefel had declared the story his own invention, their disappointment would not for the moment have been stronger than their relief. Though Lady Harefel uttered frequent exclamations of horror, she wore an expression of unusual animation; and Miss Susan, who sighed and shook her head, was enjoying a romance which came so near her own life. Sir Joseph also found consolation for a "bad business" in the justification of his often - expressed belief that his nephew would "make a fool of himself some day." There was a new cause of excitement and alarm in the name of Mr Sebastian Archer. When it was uttered, Sir Joseph looked at his wife, who replied by an exclamation of alarm.

"The evil genius of the family," muttered Miss Susan.

"He half ruined your poor uncle Eustace," said the baronet to his son.

It appeared that Mr Archer was a most alarming person; a man suspected of many things, and convicted of none; a man of family, who was at home with any one, from a duke to a dustman; a man

of no apparent means, who lived always in ease and luxury. Ned felt that all his powers would be required.

"Start for Italy, my boy," said Sir Joseph, who fancied that he had originated the idea, " and see what can be done."

Oh, Joseph, is it healthy at this time of year?" cried his wife; and then to her son, "Don't leave off your flannels because it is warm; and don't go without a bottle of something, which I will give you."

"Bring him back to us," said Miss Susan, in a low voice, as she pressed her nephew's hand with her long fingers.

The young man glowed at the thought that he was the envoy of the family, and went away briskly to make the most sensible preparations for his journey, discarding firmly but kindly at least half the things which his mother declared indispensable. He told himself that he would be severely practical, and show Miss Katharine Adare that there was something worth doing outside a ball-room, and that he could do it.

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CHAPTER VIII.

AT AMALFI.

HAD Lady Harefel been able to see the slopes above Amalfi on one of the brightest mornings of spring, her fears would have been strengthened. Tired of climbing up the steep path, Marion Archer had seated herself on the green bank, and was looking far out to sea with wide open eyes. She had taken off her hat, that she might feel the light air on her temples, but her lips were not smiling. There was a quaint look of gravity on the fair young face.

"And why should not a woman be able to live for art?" she asked.

Irvine had thrown himself down beside her little feet, and was looking up at her face with most lively curiosity. For days he had thought so much about this girl, that he had scarcely found time to

think about himself.

"Why not?" he asked.

"But they never do," he added. He wished to make her pour out all her thoughts; but she seemed not to hear him, as she looked over the water blue and green, gleaming like a serpent's scales in the sun. So he was irritated into talk by her unconcern, and began to pour forth his ideas on women, saying some things which he really thought, some which were fragments of other people's speeches, some which he thought he believed, some which sounded striking. She paid little attention to all this: only it caused in her a sudden consciousness that there was an element of unreality in her own little speech about living for art, and she began to move her foot impatiently. Then he too became silent, and rather sulky, until presently she began to murmur a song; and then his eyes grew dark and moist again, as he felt that strange attraction which her tones had for him. He was sure that her voice affected him, and him alone, in that peculiar manner. It was with a sense of rebellion against this influence that he said abruptly, when she paused, "I suppose I must leave this place."

"Oh, I shall be so sorry!" she said.