you had them in the window. M'Pherson,' she continued, crying to

her maid, who had been all this time grimly waiting in the hall, 'I

lunch with Mr. Somerset. Take the cellar key and bring some wine.'

In this gay humour she continued throughout the luncheon; presented

Somerset with a couple of dozen of wine, which she made M'Pherson

bring up from the cellar--'as a present, my dear,' she said, with

another burst of tearful merriment, 'for your charming pictures,

which you must be sure to leave me when you go;' and finally,

protesting that she dared not spoil the absurdest houseful of

madmen in the whole of London, departed (as she vaguely phrased it)

for the continent of Europe.

She was no sooner gone, than Somerset encountered in the corridor

the Irish nurse; sober, to all appearance, and yet a prey to

singularly strong emotion. It was made to appear, from her

account, that Mr. Jones had already suffered acutely in his health

from Mrs. Luxmore's visit, and that nothing short of a full

explanation could allay the invalid's uneasiness. Somerset,

somewhat staring, told what he thought fit of the affair.

'Is that all?' cried the woman. 'As God sees you, is that all?'

'My good woman,' said the young man, 'I have no idea what you can

be driving at. Suppose the lady were my friend's wife, suppose she

were my fairy godmother, suppose she were the Queen of Portugal;

and how should that affect yourself or Mr. Jones?'

'Blessed Mary!' cried the nurse, 'it's he that will be glad to hear

it!'

And immediately she fled upstairs.

Somerset, on his part, returned to the dining-room, and with a very

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