withering contempt, on the part of Miss Windermere, would have punished such an impossible presumption, had he so far forgotten himself. But, at this precise time, her ladyship was deeply occupied in alternately bantering Lord Dumbledore on his continued bachelorhood, and regretting her folly and precipitation in having accepted the invitation of Mrs. Auget; being singularly fatigued and out of spirits, and particularly distressed that Lord Byborough had unexpectedly been prevented from waiting upon Mrs. Auget that evening.

Albert Grey and Alice Windermere left the hermitage, to separate. In his wild-toned and unexpected joy, future plans and future meetings were forgotten; and now, nervously fearful to be seen in the company of Alice Windermere, lest suspicion should arise, he addressed a few hurried words to Lady Windermere, and hastened to mingle in the general crowd of the happy and thoughtless.

"I envy not, Miss Windermere," said Mr. Molyneux, who, at that moment, joined the party at the hermitage; "I envy not the man

who would pay the hollow compliment of desiring that sprig as a memento: give me the emblem of innocence and affection, the young rose;" and, glancing at the retreating form of Albert Grey, he begged, in knight's phrase, the young bud that blushed beside the myrtle in Miss Windermere's hand.

She felt a glow of indignation arise at one who could speak so unseasonably, although unawares; but he must have seen the myrtlesprig which Albert Grey had received; and Henry Molyneux bowed thanks, as Alice Windermere gave him the rosebud.

"Have you seen Constance Grey?", she inquired; "I wish her company much. It would be vain to seek her amongst this multitude. You can, probably, direct us to your cousin?"

"I scarcely think I can!" answered Henry Molyneux, gloomily, with a slight hesitation.

"Oh! you are an undutiful cousin, I fear," responded Miss Windermere.

"No!" replied Henry Molyneux, in a

serious tone;

"it is Constance who has

abandoned me; she has quarrelled with me to-night."

"Quarrelled!" exclaimed Alice Winder

mere.

"Quarrelled! irretrievably quarrelled!" answered Henry Molyneux.

CHAPTER VI.

"La vostra tanta

Filosofia."

Venetian Canzonet.

THE Cousin-lovers had alighted upon one of those little luxurious sunderings, which appear to have been invented by the blindest and kindest of immortals, for the mere purpose of introducing the delight of reconciliation.

Constance Grey, in her deliberate judgment, doubted not that Henry Molyneux grieved as much as she herself did, that the festivity at the Haye had nearly concluded before he could contrive to seek her amidst the gay throng; but her heart, in wild opposition to her judgment, much preferred doubting.

Several times, it was true, during the course of the long day, they had encountered each other but by chance, and then he had whis

pered words which she delighted to hear. But he had only flitted to and fro. He had spoken a kind wish, and a kind regret, and had again disappeared.

When, at last, Henry Molyneux resigned Emily Auget, after a waltz, to another polite cavalier, and approached Constance, her silence upbraided him.

At an earlier hour the tear would have risen, had he come to ask forgiveness for his apparent inattention. Now the fountain was dried — tenderness had gained the assistance of strength. For nearly a month he had not visited her, and now the entire day had been suffered to escape without a reference or an explanation; yet, when he came to her, in her heart she forgave him.

But Henry Molyneux in vain sought to establish himself at once on his old footing; and, ere the dancing ceased, she forsook him, without apparent reluctance, accepting Lord John Huron for the last waltz, and his tutelary attentions at the ensuing supper.

The festivity concluded. The high roads, startled from their midnight propriety, trem

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