mother's chair with a book of fairy tales. The first thing that aroused my attention was a sob from Lady Conyngham and my mother saying to her:

"It is quite useless, you know, Isabel, to struggle against the inevitable."

"It is very well for you, Beatrice, to talk in that fashion, you who have never had a trouble in your own life; now, have you?"

"No," replied my beautiful mother, "not a real trouble, thank Heaven," and she clasped her white hands in gratitude.

"Then you cannot judge. You mean well, I know, when you advise me to be patient; but, Beatrice, suppose it were your husband, what should you do?"

"I should do just what I am advising you to do; I should be patient, Isabel."

"You would. If Sir Roland neglected you, slighted you, treated you with indifference, harder to bear than hate, if he persisted in thrusting the presence of your rivals on you, what should you do?"

"Do you mean to ask me, really and truly, what I should do in that case?" asked my dear mother. "Oh, Isabel, I can soon tell you that; I should die."

"Die—nonsense!" cried Lady Conyngham. "What is the use of dying?—the very thing they want. I will not die;" but my mother had laid her fair head back on the velvet pillow, and her eyes lingered on the clear blue sky. Was she looking for the angels who must have heard her voice?

"I am not as strong as you, Isabel," she said, gently, "and I love Sir Roland with my whole heart."

"I loved my husband with my whole heart," sobbed the beautiful woman, "and I have done nothing in this world to deserve what I have suffered. I loved him with a pure, great affection—what became of it? Three days after we were married I saw him myself patting one of the maids—a good-looking one, you may be sure—on the cheek."

"Perhaps he meant no harm," said my mother, consolingly; "you know that gentlemen do not attach so much importance as we do to these little trifles."

"You try, Beatrice, how you would like it; you have been married ten years, and even at this date you would not like Sir Roland to do such a thing?"

"I am sure I should not; but then, you know, there are men and men. Sir Roland is graver in character than Lord Conyngham. What would mean much from 

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