always spoke to Neil Webster in that style. "I am glad to see you. Your lovely and exquisite music never fails to inspire my muse."

Put into plain prose this speech meant that Miss Brawn wrote poems for drawing-room ballad composers, and that she trusted to music for inspiration. Miss Brawn further occupied herself with writing short stories for children's Christmas books, and she figured in a popular magazine as "Aunt Dilly." She had come to regard herself as a literary personage.

"I hope I may be able to inspire you to some I purpose to-night," Webster said, quietly.

Young Heron turned away in disdain. He was a handsome country squire, possessed of no nerves, and no artistic cravings. He came of an old family, and had an income of four thousand a year. His time was spent in hunting, polo, shooting, fishing, and tearing round the country in a motor-car: and he had not much opinion of the "fiddler-fellow," as he called Webster. But this was due to the fact that he had noticed Ruth's predilection for him, not to any fault in the man himself. For Geoffrey loved the girl. He treated Webster with a coldness almost equal to that of Mrs. Marshall. That lady was his firm friend, and was most anxious that he should marry her niece. Seeing now his look of disdain, she was about to speak, when a cheerful voice was heard above the others.

"Oh, here is my husband," Mrs. Marshall cried, her dark face lighting up. "I was wondering where he had got to."

"I am here, my dear Inez, here," and a brisk, stout man darted forward. "Ruth, my dear, you look charming! Miss Brawn, allow me to congratulate you upon your toilet. Mr. Webster, good evening." His manner was colder but with renewed geniality he shook hands with Geoffrey Heron. "Ha, ha, my boy! a merry Christmas to you!"

The voluble, active little man rattled on, cutting jokes, laughing at his own wit, and paying compliments all round, while his tall, dark wife stood near him listening with a smile on her face. Why Mrs. Marshall should love her husband so much remained ever a mystery to her friends. For he was a fat, beer-barrel of a creature, and possessed neither the looks nor the brains which would be likely to attract as refined and clever a woman as his wife undoubtedly was. Yet Inez adored him, although Mr. Robert Marshall was an elderly Don Juan, fond of the society of pretty girls, and he prided himself no little on his conquests. There was undoubtedly some charm about him which raptured the hearts of women. And Mrs. Marshall, as the lawful 

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