sentences in the same comical way. I shall be terribly disappointed if she doesn’t. Five, six more weeks before I see her and all the other vicarage people, and already I’m in a ferment of impatience. Every mile we travel nearer home, the more I long for the time to come; and when we get to London I really don’t know how I shall last out the fortnight before I go down to the country.”

“Would it help matters if we invited Mellicent to come and join us in London? She would enjoy the experience of living in an hotel and house-hunting with us. You can write and ask her, dear, if you like,” said Mrs Saville fondly; and Peggy clasped her hands together in one of the old ecstatic gestures.

“How s–imply lovely! Mother dear, you are an admirable person. There is nothing in the world I should like so much, and it would be so wise, too, for Mellicent and I would have time to get through our first floodgates of talk before I met the others, so that I should not be torn asunder by wanting to speak to every one at the same time. It will be a wild dissipation for the dear old girl to stay in an hotel, and she does enjoy herself so beamingly when she is out for a holiday that it’s a pleasure to behold her. I’ll write this very minute!”

The invitation was despatched forthwith, and such a rhapsodical acceptance received by return of post as effectually dispelled Peggy’s fears lest her friend might have outgrown her old peculiarities. Mellicent at twenty-one was apparently as gushingly outspoken, as amazingly irrelevant, as in the days of short frocks and frizzled locks, and the expectation of meeting her in four short weeks lent added zest to Peggy’s enjoyment of her new surroundings.

The headquarters of this happy party was at an hotel situated on the hill behind Cannes, and every morning a carriage waited at the door, to drive them to the different places of interest in the neighbourhood. They bought curious plaques and vases at the Vallauris pottery, went over the scent manufactory at Grasse, where mountains of rose leaves and violets are converted into fragrant perfumes, and drove along the exquisite Cornichi road, which winds round the hillside, and affords a view of the Mediterranean lying below, blue as a sapphire in the summer sunshine. In the afternoons Mrs Saville would retire to rest, tired out by the morning’s exertions, and Peggy would say plaintively:

“Father dear, could you bear the reflections that your only daughter was pining for an ice and a box of chocolates, and that you had refused to indulge 

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