LITMIR.BIZ

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at the mansion. Therefore they stayed at Boulogne, and Mrs. Mountjoy tried the bathing, cold as the water was with equinoctial gales, in order that there might be the appearance of a reason for her being at Boulogne. And for company's sake, in the hope of maintaining some fellowship with her mother, Florence bathed also. "Mamma, he has not written again," said Florence, coming up one day from the stand.

      "I suppose that you are impatient."

      "Why should there be a quarrel between us? I am not impatient. If you would only believe me, it would be so much more happy for both of us. You always used to believe me."

      "That was before you knew Mr. Harry Annesley."

      There was something in this very aggravating—something specially intended to excite angry feelings. But Florence determined to forbear. "I think you may believe me, mamma. I am your own daughter, and I shall not deceive you. I do consider myself engaged to Mr. Annesley."

      "You need not tell me that."

      "But while I am living with you I will promise not to receive letters from him without your leave. If one should come I will bring it to you, unopened, so that you may deal with it as though it had been delivered to yourself. I care nothing about my uncle as to this affair. What he may say cannot affect me, but what you say does affect me very much. I will promise neither to write nor to hear from Mr. Annesley for three months. Will not that satisfy you?" Mrs. Mountjoy would not say that it did satisfy her; but she somewhat mitigated her treatment of her daughter till they arrived together at Sir Magnus's mansion.

      They were shown through the great hall by three lackeys into an inner vestibule, where they encountered the great man himself. He was just then preparing to be put on to his horse, and Lady Mountjoy had already gone forth in her carriage for her daily airing, with the object, in truth, of avoiding the new-comers. "My dear Sarah," said Sir Magnus, "I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you and my niece very well. Let me see, your name is—"

      "My name is Florence," said the young lady so interrogated.

      "Ah yes; to be sure. I shall forget my own name soon. If any one was to call me Magnus without the 'Sir,' I shouldn't know whom they meant." Then he looked his niece in the face, and it occurred to him that Anderson might not improbably desire to flirt with her. Anderson was the riding attaché, who always accompanied him on horseback, and of whom Lady Mountjoy had predicted that he would be sure to flirt with the minister's niece. At that moment Anderson himself came in, and some ceremony of introduction took place. Anderson was a fair-haired, good-looking young man, with that thorough look of self-satisfaction and conceit which attachés are much more wont to exhibit than to deserve. For the work of an attaché at Brussels is not of a nature to bring forth the highest order of intellect; but the occupations are of a nature to make a young man feel that he is not like other young men.

      "I am so sorry that Lady Mountjoy has just gone out. She did not expect you till the later train. You have been staying at Boulogne. What on earth made you stay at Boulogne?"

      "Bathing," said Mrs. Mountjoy, in a low voice.

      "Ah, yes; I suppose so. Why did you not come to Ostend? There is better bathing there, and I could have done something for you. What! The horses ready, are they? I must go out and show myself, or otherwise they'll all think that I am dead. If I were absent from the boulevard at this time of day I should be put into the newspapers. Where is Mrs. Richards?" Then the two guests, with their own special Baker, were made over to the ministerial house-keeper, and Sir Magnus went forth upon his ride.

      "She's a pretty girl, that niece of mine," said Sir Magnus.

      "Uncommonly pretty," said the attaché.

      "But I believe she is engaged to some one. I quite forget who; but I know there is some aspirant. Therefore you had better keep your toe in your pump, young man."

      "I don't know that I shall keep my toe in my pump because there is another aspirant," said Anderson. "You rather whet my ardor, sir, to new exploits. In such circumstances one is inclined to think that the aspirant must look after himself. Not that I conceive for a moment that Miss Mountjoy should ever look after me."

      When Mrs. Mountjoy came down to the drawing-room there seemed to be quite "a party" collected to enjoy the hospitality of Sir Magnus, but there were not, in truth, many more than the usual number at the board. There were Lady Mountjoy, and Miss Abbot, and Mr. Anderson, with Mr. Montgomery Arbuthnot, the two attachés. Mr. Montgomery Arbuthnot was especially proud of his name, but was otherwise rather a humble young man as an attaché, having as yet been only three months with Sir Magnus, and desirous of perfecting himself in Foreign Office manners under the tuition of Mr. Anderson. Mr. Blow, Secretary of Legation, was not there. He was a married man of austere manners, who, to tell the truth, looked down from a considerable height, as regarded Foreign Office knowledge, upon his chief.

      It was Mr. Blow who did the "grinding" on behalf of the Belgian Legation, and who sometimes did not hesitate to let it be known that such was the fact. Neither he nor Mrs. Blow was popular at the Embassy; or it may, perhaps, be said with more truth that the Embassy was not popular with Mr. and Mrs. Blow. It may be stated, also, that there was a clerk attached to the establishment, Mr. Bunderdown, who had been there for some years, and who was good-naturedly regarded by the English inhabitants as a third attaché. Mr. Montgomery Arbuthnot did his best to let it be understood that this was a mistake. In the small affairs of the legation, which no doubt did not go beyond the legation, Mr. Bunderdown generally sided with Mr. Blow. Mr. Montgomery Arbuthnot was recognized as a second mounted attaché, though his attendance on the boulevard was not as constant as that of Mr. Anderson, in consequence, probably, of the fact that he had not a horse of his own. But there were others also present. There were Sir Thomas Tresham, with his wife, who had been sent over to inquire into the iron trade of Belgium. He was a learned free-trader who could not be got to agree with the old familiar views of Sir Magnus—who thought that the more iron that was produced in Belgium the less would be forthcoming from England. But Sir Thomas knew better, and as Sir Magnus was quite unable to hold his own with the political economist, he gave him many dinners and was civil to his wife. Sir Thomas, no doubt, felt that in doing so Sir Magnus did all that could be expected from him. Lady Tresham was a quiet little woman, who could endure to be patronized by Lady Mountjoy without annoyance. And there was M. Grascour, from the Belgian Foreign Office, who spoke English so much better than the other gentlemen present that a stranger might have supposed him to be a school-master whose mission it was to instruct the English Embassy in their own language.

      "Oh, Mrs. Mountjoy, I am so ashamed of myself!" said Lady Mountjoy, as she waddled into the room two minutes after the guests had been assembled. She had a way of waddling that was quite her own, and which they who knew her best declared that she had adopted in lieu of other graces of manner. She puffed a little also, and did contrive to attract peculiar attention. "But I have to be in my carriage every day at the same hour. I don't know what would be thought of us if we were absent." Then she turned, with a puff and a waddle, to Miss Abbot. "Dear Lady Tresham was with us." Mrs. Mountjoy murmured something as to her satisfaction at not having delayed the carriage-party, and bethought herself how exactly similar had been the excuse made by Sir Magnus himself. Then Lady Mountjoy gave another little puff, and assured Florence that she hoped she would find Brussels sufficiently gay—"not that we pretend at all to equal Paris."

      "We live at Cheltenham," said Florence, "and that is not at all like Paris. Indeed, I never slept but two nights at Paris in my life."

      "Then we shall do very well at Brussels." After this she waddled off again, and was stopped in her waddling by Sir Magnus, who sternly desired her to prepare for the august ceremony of going in to dinner. The one period of real importance at the English Embassy was, no doubt, the daily dinner-hour.

      Florence found herself seated between Mr. Anderson, who had taken her in, and M. Grascour, who had performed the same ceremony for her ladyship. "I am sure you will like this little capital very much," said M. Grascour. "It is as much nicer than Paris as it is smaller and less pretentious." Florence could only assent. "You will soon be able to learn something of us; but in Paris you must be to the manner born, or half a lifetime will not suffice."

      "We'll

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