iver I seen since I came to the house,' said Kitty with serene composure.

'It's too bad!' cried Lettice; and there's that great spot of gravy on it.'

'Is it the gravy? Shure it was the master himself did it, when he turned the beef,' answered Kitty, as if she considered that fact made it of no consequence at all.

'Well, it can't be helped,' said Mrs. Tippington; 'but this is the sort of thing that always is happening. And I was so very anxious to have the dessert on the tablecloth, and now it's impossible; the cloth must be taken off, and the dessert put on the table, which is so vulgar. I'd almost as soon not have any dessert at all. Now, Kitty, be sure that you hand the chops round. Don't let the master help them, whatever you do. Hand them round first, and then hand round the vegetables.'

'Is it me, ma'am?' cried Kitty, astonished; 'an' it's not to let the master help them I am, an' he in his own house? Well, that bates anythin'!'

'Don't forget,' replied her mistress grandly, and so went up-stairs into the sitting-room, or, as she always called it, the drawing - room. She had changed the apartment at the back of the shop into a dining-room, and had persuaded her husband to close up the little window intended to command a view of the place where buying and selling went

on. Then the bedroom over the shop had been made by her earnest desire into a drawing-room, while a small back chamber answered the purpose of bed and dressing-room in one.

Lettice had been very happy turning everything topsy-turvy. At first she was shocked at the vulgarity of Frank's arrangements, and was anxiously desirous to make matters more genteel. He gave her carte blanche, though he now and then ventured to ask a question or murmur a dissent; and when all was done, he boldly said that though it was quite right the house should be arranged according to her wishes, for his own part he had thought it more comfortable before. Lettice looked lovely, laughed charmingly in his face, and declared men never did know when they were well off; and of course her young husband immediately kissed her, and remarked that he believed he was a man who did know when he was well off-in a wife.

On the present occasion, Mrs. Tippington busied herself in making this said drawing-room look as uncomfortable as possible. She put her work and writing things away. She took two or three show books, gaily bound and with pictures in them, and laid them on the table. She placed the chairs stiffly in a line against the wall, and then she sat down on the sofa, with her hands in her lap, arranged herself into a lady-like and becoming

attitude, and remained there doing nothing but waiting patiently for her friends to take her by surprise.

She started in the most natural manner imaginable when Mr. Tippington and his companions entered the room, and looked up as if she had not in the least expected them, but was in the habit of sitting in this manner for the greater part of her time, and had by no means been waiting for them for the last ten minutes. Then she shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Donolly, and said rather languidly, How do you do?'

Mr. Donolly was a man of about thirty years of age; he was the first wine merchant in Clanmena. He and Frank had been schoolfellows; they liked each other when boys at first sight, and soon became firm friends, which they had remained ever since. When Frank's father had determined on starting him in trade, it was in great measure through Mr. Donolly's influence that Clanmena was fixed on for his residence, and he was mainly instrumental in the business arrangements that followed. He was an honest, straight-forward, open-spoken young man. Mrs. Donolly was about five-and-twenty, six years older than our heroine, who was only nineteen,-a cheerful, pleasant woman, who, if not regularly handsome, had, at all events, the neat figure and

mely presence which Mr. Tippington's ideal had

possessed. Her dark hair was prettily dressed in coils round and round her comb, innocent of cushions or chignon, and not frizzed; her gown was of brown cashmere, well made, and set off by collar and cuffs faultlessly white and clean, the former fastened by a handsome cameo brooch, which was her only ornament. Her manners were open, unaffected, and refined.

Lettice glanced over her from top to toe in the sort of manner that some ladies of higher position than Mr. Tippington's wife are in the habit of doing in order to take in all the particulars of an acquaintance's dress a trick not unfrequent in those who are or have been in the habit of making or planning their own costumes. A pang went to her heart as she did so; but she consoled herself with the idea that after all Mrs. Donolly was too plainly dressed, and quite too deficient in ornament; and she remembered her carbuncle locket and oval earrings with peculiar pride and pleasure, which strengthened and supported her very comfortably in her affected manner. Affectation requires a great deal of support sometimes.

'It is so good of you to let us come,' Mrs. Donolly said, smiling, while she shook hands with her hostess.

Lettice sank back on her sofa, half-closing her

eyes.

'There was so little time,' she murmured; 'I am afraid it is a very poor dinner-if I had only known!'

Here she paused, smiled faintly, closed her eyes, and gave a little sigh. This sigh Lettice was fond of, and considered one of the best bred things she did.

Of course her speech, even without its die-away mode of delivery, made Mrs. Donolly uncomfortable. If we want friends to feel themselves welcome, we should give them the best we have, without any apologies for its not being better.

Mrs. Donolly's cheerful face clouded over a little. 'I hope it is not inconvenient?' she said.

'We are delighted to see you,' replied Frank sturdily. 'Sit down; dinner will be ready directly.' His wife closed her eyes, and shrank a little as he spoke, as if his voice was too loud for her.

'Anything in the papers to-day, Mr. Donolly?' asked she in a simpering manner. It's the opera is in Dublin just now, isn't it?'

'Sure, Mrs. Tippington, I didn't look to see,' answered that gentleman briskly; 'for, just to tell you the truth, operas are not much in my line any way.'

'I am so fond of music,' drawled Lettice, and then she sighed again.

'Why don't you sing in church, then?' asked he, smiling.