might be better for the furtherance of her plans against the peace of Miss Leyton’s mind, she thought, to keep her engagement to Captain Pullen a secret--at all events, no one could say it was her business to make it public. She looked in Harriet Brandt’s yearning, passionate eyes, and decided that it would be strange if any impressionable young man could be thrown within their influence, without having his fidelity a little shaken, especially if affianced to such a cold, uninteresting “bit of goods” as Elinor Leyton. Like the parrot in the story, though she said nothing, she “thought a deal” and inwardly rumbled with half-suppressed laughter, as she pictured the discomfiture of the latter young lady if by any chance she should find her fiancé's attentions transferred from herself to the little West Indian.

"You seem amused, Madame!" said Harriet presently.

"I was thinking of you, and all the young men who are doomed to be slaughtered by those eyes of yours," said the Baroness. "You’d make mischief enough amongst my friends, I bet, if I ’ad you at the Red ’Ouse!"Harriet felt flattered and consciously pleased. She had never received a compliment in the Convent--no one had ever hinted that she was pretty, and she had had no opportunity of hearing it since.

“Do you think I am handsome then?” she enquired with a heightened colour.

“I think you’re a deal worse! I think you’re dangerous!” replied her new friend, “and I wouldn’t trust you with the Baron any further than I could see you!”

“O! how can you say so?” exclaimed the girl, though she was pleased all the same to hear it said.

“I wouldn’t, and that’s the truth! Gustave’s an awful fellow after the gals. I ’ave to keep a tight ’old on ’im, I can tell you, and the more you keep out of ’is way, the better I shall be pleased! You’ll make a grand match some day, if you’re only sharp and keep your eyes open.”

“What do you call a grand match?” asked Harriet, as she let the nurse take the sleeping child from her arms without remonstrance.

“Why! a Lord or an Honourable at the very least! since you ’ave money of your own. It’s money they’re all after in these times, you know--why! we ’ave dooks and markisses marrying all sorts of gals from Amurrica--gals whose fathers made their money in oil, or medicine, or electricity, or any other dodge, so long as they made it! And why shouldn’t you do the same as the Amurrican gals? You have money, I know--and a 

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