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looked down, her face was delicately flushed – her eyes shone.

      "Of course," he said. "Well, say 'Yes.' It is very kind. You see, Stella, your wish is gratified almost as soon as you utter it. You will see your paragon – Lady Lenore."

      She started, and her face went pale.

      "I have changed my mind," she said, in a low voice. "I find I don't want to see her so badly as I thought. I think I don't care to go, uncle."

      He stared at her. She was still an enigma to him.

      "Nonsense, child! Not care to see Wyndward Hall! Nonsense! Besides, it's Lady Lilian; we must go, Stella."

      She still stood with the letter in her hand.

      "But – but, uncle – I have nothing to wear."

      "Nothing to wear!" And he looked at her up and down.

      "Nothing fit for Wyndward Hall," she said. "Uncle, I don't think I care to go."

      He laughed gently.

      "You will find something to wear between now and half-past seven to-morrow," he said, "or my faith in Mrs. Penfold's resources will be shaken. Accept, my dear."

      She went slowly to the table and wrote two lines – two lines only.

      "Dear Lady Lilian. – We shall be very glad indeed to come and see you to-morrow. Yours very truly,"

      "Stella Etheridge."

      Then she rang the bell and gave the note to Mrs. Penfold.

      "I am going to Wyndward Hall to-morrow," she said, with a smile, "and I have got nothing to wear, Mrs. Penfold!" and she laughed.

      Mrs. Penfold threw up her hands after the manner of her kind.

      "To the Hall, Miss Stella, to-morrow! Oh, dear, what shall we do?" Then she glanced at the arm-chair, and beckoned Stella out of the room.

      "Come up-stairs, then, and let us see what we can manage. To the Hall! Think of that!" and she threw up her head proudly.

      Stella sat on a chair, looking on with a smile, while the scanty wardrobe was overhauled.

      Scanty as it was it contained everything that was needful for such use as Stella might ordinarily require, but a dinner at the Hall was quite out of the ordinary. At last, after holding up dress after dress, and dropping it with a shake of the head, Mrs. Penfold took up a cream sateen.

      "That's very pretty," said Stella.

      "But it's only sateen!" exclaimed Mrs. Penfold.

      "It looks like satin – a little," said Stella "by candlelight, at least."

      "And they have real satin, and silks, and velvets," deplored Mrs. Penfold, eagerly.

      "Nobody will notice me," said Stella, consolingly. "It doesn't matter."

      Mrs. Penfold glanced at her with a curious smile.

      "Will they not, Miss Stella? I don't know, I think they will; but it must be this dress or nothing; you can't go in a cotton, or the black merino, and the muslin you wore the other night – "

      "Wouldn't do at all," said Stella. "We'll make this sateen do, Mrs. Penfold. I think it looks very nice; the lace is good, isn't it?"

      "The lace?" said Mrs. Penfold, thoughtfully, then her face brightened. "Wait a moment," she said, and she dropped the dress and hurried from the room, returning in a few moments with a small box. "Speaking of lace just reminded me, Miss Stella, that I had some by me. It was made by my mother – I don't know whether it's good," and as she spoke she opened the box and lifted some lace from the interior.

      "Why it's point!"

      "Point, is it, miss? I didn't know. Then it is good."

      "Good!" exclaimed Stella – "it's beautiful, delicious, heavenly. And will you lend it to me?"

      "No, I'll give it to you if you will take it, Miss Stella," said the good woman, with a proud smile.

      "No, no, not for worlds, but I will wear it if you'll let me?" said Stella, and she took a long strip and put it round her throat. "Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful! It would make the poorest dress look handsome! I will take great care of it, indeed I will."

      "What nonsense, dear Miss Stella! How glad I am I thought of it. And it does look pretty now you wear it," and she looked at the beautiful face admiringly. "And you'll want gloves – let me see – yes, you have got some cream gloves; they'll go with the dress, won't they? Now, you go down-stairs, and I'll look the things out and tack the lace on. Going to the Hall? I'm so glad, Miss Stella."

      "Are you?" said Stella, softly, as she went down-stairs, "I don't know whether I'm glad or sorry!"

      CHAPTER X

      The great clock in the Hall stables chimed the half-hour – half-past seven, and the sound came floating down the valley.

      Mr. Etheridge stood at the door clad in evening dress, which, old-fashioned and well-worn as it was, sat upon him with a gracious air, and made him look more distinguished than ever. The fly was waiting at the door, and he glanced at his watch and took a step toward the stairs, when a light appeared above, and a light step sounded over his head. The next moment a vision, as it seemed to him, floated into sight, and came down upon him.

      Stella was in the cream sateen dress – the exquisite lace was clinging round her slender, graceful throat – there was a red rose in her hair; but it was not the dress, nor the lace, nor the rose even, which chained the painter's eye – it was the lovely girlish face. The excitement had brought a dash of warm color in the clear olive cheeks and a bright light into the dark eyes; the lips were half-apart with a smile, and the whole face was eloquent of youth's fresh tide of life and spirits. If they had had all Howell and James' stock to choose from, they could not have chosen a more suitable dress – a more becoming color; the whole made a fitting frame for the girlish beauty.

      "Well, uncle!" she said, with a little blush.

      "What have you done to yourself, my child?" he said, with simple open-eyed wonder.

      "Isn't she – isn't it beautiful?" murmured Mrs. Penfold, in an ecstasy. "But then, if it had been a morning cotton, it would have been all the same." And she proceeded to wrap a woolen shawl round her so carefully as if she was something that might be destroyed at too hard a touch. "Mind she has this wound round her like this when she comes out, sir, and be sure and keep the window up."

      "And don't let the air breathe on me, or I shall melt, uncle," laughed Stella.

      "Upon my word, I'm half disposed to think so," he muttered.

      Then they entered the fly – Mrs. Penfold disposing the short train of the despised sateen with gingerly care – and started.

      "How have you managed it all?" asked the old man, quite bewildered. "I feel quite strange conveying a brilliant young lady."

      "And I feel – frightened out of my life," said Stella, with a little breath and a laugh.

      "Then you conceal your alarm with infinite art," he retorted.

      "That's just it," she assented. "My heart is beating like a steam hammer, but, like an Indian at the stake, I am determined to smile to the end. They will be very terrible, uncle, will they not?"

      "Who?" he asked.

      "The countess and the paragon – I mean Lady Lenore Beauchamp. I shall have to be careful, or I shall be calling her the paragon to her face. What would she do, uncle?"

      "Smile and pass it by with a gracious air," he said, laughing. "You are a clever and a bold girl, Stella, but even you could not take 'a rise,' as we used to say in my school-days, out of Lady Lenore."

      "I am not clever, and I am trembling like a mouse," said Stella, with a piteous little pout. "You'll stand by me, uncle, won't you?"

      He laughed.

      "I think you are quite able to defend yourself, my dear," he said. "Never knew one of your sex who was not."

      The fly rumbled over the bridge and entered

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