such had been Virginia's argument.

But as Laurence now reflected—wiser by some year and a half's experience of woman and matrimony—if life on the lines of the Commonplace is to afford its legitimate compensations, it must not be trained too fine, or jockeyed too carefully. The man's ear must not be too ready to hear specious arguments, nor his imagination to entertain too elaborate sympathies. He must compel those said fine flowers to bow their heads to the common yoke. All his life he—Laurence—had been liable to stultify himself by permitting his imagination to turn up in the wrong place. What good luck to have been born, like his friend cheery Jack Bellingham, devoid of that embarrassing faculty! Good luck for Jack himself, and for his wife—who just looked so delightfully pretty—and for those three nice, shouting, scarlet-coated, small Bellinghams, otherwise only too probably non-existent.

Laurence had ceased suddenly to be much amused; had ceased to relish discussion of mutual friends, reminiscence or anecdote. He rose with the intention of bidding his hostess farewell; but her self-consciousness, her manner and manners, came back with a snap.

"Why, Mr. Rivers, you do not propose to leave yet," she protested. "I am not half through with our conversation, I assure you. We have not yet approached the subject upon which I am most keen for first-hand information. I am perfectly wild to hear on what terms you believe Virginia, with her bright, fearless, highly-developed, modern temperament, will be with your family spectre."

XII

Laurence drew himself up with a sharp sensation of annoyance, geniality and wistfulness alike departing from his aspect. The matter had never presented itself to him in this combination before, and it offended his taste, even, in a degree, his sense of decency. He paused a moment, and then took refuge in slight insincerity.

"Always assuming, dear Mrs. Bellingham, that there is a family spectre for Virginia, or anybody else, to be on terms with?"

"Why, you do not really propose to call that thrilling fact in question?" the lady answered, very brightly. "That would be too mortifying. It would constitute the climax of the ennui from which I have suffered during the many months of this English winter. I had promised myself at least one vital sensation when you and I should meet, and you should tell me the true, inward history of that romantic, old house of yours, Stoke Rivers."

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