stands Marmaduke, laughing and talking gayly to a fair-haired, prettily-dressed woman, who in a lower class of existence, might be termed "buxom." To say she is inclining towards _embonpoint_ will, however, sound less shocking to ears polite. I have heard from my husband that she is about thirty years of age, but in the quick glance I take at her I decide she might be any age under that, she is so white and soft and gay.

"Oh! here she is," says 'Duke, gladly, as I enter.

"I am so sorry!" I murmur, with a rising color, coming quickly forward; "but we did not expect you until five o'clock."

As I advance, so does she, and when we meet she lays two small plump, jeweled hands upon my shoulders.

"It was all my fault," she says, smiling. "When you know me better you will understand that I cannot _help_ being in a hurry. However, you must forgive me this time, as my appearing at this hour is in itself a flattery, proving how impatient I was to see you." Then, regarding me attentively. "Why, what a child!" she cries; "what a baby! and what delicious eyes! Really, Marmaduke, I hardly know whether most to congratulate or--pity you."

She speaks with a curiously pretty accent, putting an emphasis on every third or fourth word that fascinates and pleases the listener.

"_Pity!_" return I, amazingly, making an unsuccessful effort to elude her firm grasp, while the indignant color flames into my cheeks. "You speak as if--_why_ should you _pity_ him?"

"Because, cannot you fancy what a life you are going to lead him," says her ladyship, with a little arch laugh that wrinkles up her Grecian nose. "Child I too have eyes and I can see mischief written in every line of your--_ugly_ little face."

I try to feel angry, but cannot. It is in her power to make every word she utters an undeveloped compliment. I succumb at once and forever, and give myself up to her merry true-hearted influence. Putting my frowns in my pocket, I laugh.

"If you keep on saying these things before 'Duke," I say, "he will find me out, and perhaps in time repent his bargain."

Here I make a little _moue_ at my husband, who is standing rather behind his sister, which he returns with interest. "How do you know I have not found you out long ago? It is my belief I married you for my sins. Harriet, I leave her now in your hands; reform her--if you can."

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