a ee re

132

THE PANELLED HOUSE.

smile of amusement on the mouth, he felt that he
had for once fallen in with a specimen of the L. L.
who was not “fearfully plain.”

Louey, with very red cheeks and a strong ineli-
nation to burst out laughing, introduced her cousin,
and left them to make acquaintance, while she
proceeded to other hospitable duties. After this,
Nest found the evening pass more quickly, and
enjoyed it. Edward Anderson talked well, and in
his pleasure at finding a girl who was neither plain,
conceited, nor uninteresting, at one of his aunt’s
parties, which he always looked on as the greatest
bore of the season, he made himself even more
agreeable than usual.

By and by, Jane sat down to the piano, and
played a sonata of Beethoven’s. Unfortunately,
although she had a great deal of facility, and played
eorrectly, she played with no feeling at all, and
consequently the buzz of conversation rose higher
and higher as the music went on. When it was
done, and every one thanked her with empressement,
Edward was asked for a song. He sang Hatton’s
“Bid me to live:” his voice was full, rich, and
cultivated, and Nest, who had never heard the
song before, listened enchanted. It was the kind
of song which suited her taste exactly ; and the
rich voice rang out, carried away with the spirit
of the song—

Or bid me die, and I will die,
E’en death to die for thee.

Probably Edward Anderson never thought of the
meaning of the words at all; all he thought of was
to give due effect to the music. But Nest, in her
imaginative mind, saw before her the cavalier of
Herrick’s time, and the fair girl Anthea, standing
together in a sunny garden, like that in Millais’
* Huguenots,”

son close to her.

“ We had no story, like Lovelace, had he?” said
she, simply, looking up in Mr. Anderson’s face.

“Not that I know of,” said the young man,
after a pause, during which he flattered himself
that Nest had not discovered that he was puzzled
to know of whom she was speaking.

**T am sorry ; I wish he had,” said Nest.

Mr. Anderson, literary man as he was, had not
ever attained so lively an interest in the past as to
make him able to revive the personages of Herrick’s
songs, but he was tolerably well up in the poetry
of that period, and discussed it with Nest.
favourite Vaughan, she found, was well appreciated
by him; and then she asked him why he thought that
the poetry of that day was so much more like our

| own than the intermediate style, and he discoursed
| upon the point, pleasantly and naturally, as was his
| custom to do. He certainly liked the girl, he said

and she was proceeding with their :
story, and far from the crowded London drawing- |
room, when she looked up, and saw Edward Ander- |

Her |

to himself; after all, she was not an L, L. of the
race which gave him so much trouble. She was
simple, bright, intelligent and good-looking. He
wished that she were permanently domiciled with
his cousins.

Meanwhile good Mrs. Anderson, seeing the
animated conversation between the two, built up a
nice little castle in the air. Poor woman, she was
desperately inclined to match-making, and it was
unfortunate that her four daughters should be so
terribly sensible and plain-featured as to give her
no chance of exercising her talents in their behalf:
but now here was Nest, twenty years old, sweet-
tempered, clever, and “a dear domestic thing,” as
Mrs. Anderson called her. “Just the wife for
Edward!” she said to herself. ‘ He wants a wife
to make him comfortable, and keep him from
getting into all those sad ways that literary men
have now-a-days, not going to church, and laughing
at their Bibles, and things of that sort. Well, I
will try to get him here as often as he will come,
and throw them together, and see what will come
of it.”

At the end of the evening, however, the ‘‘ dear
domestic thing” slept calmly, with nothing more
than the idea that she had had a pleasant evening,
and that literary men, if they were all like Mr.
Anderson, must be a very agreeable set of people.

Il.
Was it wrong to own,
Being truth ?
Why should all the giving prove
His alone ?
I had wealth and ease,
Beauty, youth:
Since my love gave me love,
I gave these.
BRowNING.
Tue next fortnight was an eventful one to Nest.
Edward Anderson had fallen easily into his aunt’s
trap; there was lovely spring weather, and expe-
ditions had been organized to Richmond, to Kew, to!
the Crystal Palace; among other places to the)
Zoological Gardens. The Andersons laughed ab
Nest as a country cousin, for wanting to see the
lions and tigers, but she braved their laughter, and
Edward Anderson agreed with her that the Zoo
was the pleasantest place of all. He accompanied
them on all these expeditions, saying that the
Rambler could not blame him for rambling.

And what was Edward Anderson after all? for
to say that a man talks well, has the manners of a
gentleman, and can sing, is not to set him plainly.
before the view. But in truth, he had no very
marked individuality. At school he had been a
clever studious boy ; at college, a clever, idle young
man, who after beginning his career with a Baliol