his eyes even at that slight contradiction, and his manner was colder and stiffer than before, as he answered

'Pardon, gracious Fräulein, much has passed of which you are no doubt ignorant, therefore permit me to say you can hardly be a judge. I have done and said that which it was folly to suppose she could either forget or forgive.'

He spoke with the air of a man to whom confession was a new and bitter experience.

Then, however, my tongue was unloosed, and I told him, if not quite all, yet enough.

During the whole interview he had declined to sit down, but stood by the mantelpiece, his head resting on his hand, whilst I talked.

When I had finished he came towards me, and holding out his hand, said, in a husky voice

God reward you; you have been a true friend to her.'

And yet, strange to say, for all that I think he was disappointed. I think the man, though he hardly knew it himself, would have been happier if there had been more to forgive, if he had not been so entirely in the wrong. He felt the truth of those holy words, 'To whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little,' and he trembled lest her love for him should be dead.

I left him there and went to Valerie's room; it was necessary to finish now the work I had begun. At the door I met my mother.

'She has been asking for you, Rachel; go in to her, but try and keep her quiet; she is delirious, I think; they have sent to Little Stratford for a doctor.'

As soon as she saw me she stretched out her arms. I took her cold, trembling hands in mine, and she drew me towards her, whispering, fearfully

Rachel, I have seen him; he must be dead, he looked so awful! Oh! it has been dreadful!' she gasped. 'Why does he come to haunt me like this at last? he must know that it was all false; surely now he must know!' she moaned.

I held her hands firmly and looked

into her face; then I steadied my voice and chose the shortest, clearest words I could think of.

'Valerie, it is no spirit,' I said; 'it is your husband himself, who is here to ask your forgiveness.'

She looked wild and incredulous, then tried to get up; but she was too weak, and falling back burst into a passion of tears.

I slipped away and sent him to her; then, worn out myself with excitement and fatigue, sat down and cried like an idiot. The doctor came soon after, and I was obliged to go to her room. Her husband was sitting by her holding her hand in his. What between her smiles and tears, it hardly seemed the Valerie I had known.

'Rachel, come in,' she said; 'you know him, I needn't introduce yon. Oh! you wicked man!' she laughed, 'you have frightened her, I know you have, Leopold,' she said, with her old, quick perception. I know exactly, he put on the iron mask. You, poor dear Rachel! and you know you must be friends.' She was in a true Bavarian mood, in spite of her exhaustion. Now you must go,' she said in a minute, if I am to go to London to-morrow,' and drove him away. When he was gone she threw herself upon my neck. Rachel, he is dead!' she whispered, hiding her face; he died in the same hospital where Leopold was sent with his wound, and Leopold nursed him, and when he was dying he confessed that it was all a dreadful lie that he had invented to make him cast me off, knowing that he was helpless and couldn't fight; for once he fought a dreadful duel, and after that he took a vow and made a solemn promise to the Emperor never to fight another. It seems so dreadful, but I can't help being very happy,' she sobbed.

The next morning she got away without seeing any of the guests except one. I went with them to the station; as we turned out of the lodge gates the carriage stopped, and Mr. Sartoris appeared at the window.

'I could not let you go without saying good-bye,' he said, and wishing you a pleasant voyage, and

may I come and see you next time I am in Vienna ?'

Valerie looked troubled and glanced at her husband, leaving it to him to answer. He took her hand in his, and, bowing with cold, grave courtesy, said,

'Any of my wife's friends will be welcome to me in Vienna.'

There was no time for more; the count's servant jumped off the box to tell his master that the coachman said we were already late. Valerie shook hands and we drove on. 'You will come to us in the summer, Rachel ?' she said, as the train

was moving off; 'you have promised.'

I often hear from her. They are living on an estate which the count owns in Bohemia. There is never a shadow of unhappiness in her letters. I am going to them in the end of August for the autumn, according to my promise, which I fulfil the more eagerly since she has made friends with Stephanie, and has asked her to come for part of my visit. Pray heaven Mr. Sartoris mayn't turn up; but I think that emphasis on the word 'any' must have settled him.

shall we wear? It is a

Wquestion always under dis

cussion. It is for ever being asked; and it is for the interest of human nature that it should be happily answered: also, it is a question concerning which, justly or unjustly, we have to suffer reproach. Is it true that, as a rule, English women are ill dressed? It is an accusation often enough heard, and hopelessly given in to; yet, if we apply the judgment to a particular class, it is grossly untrue. If, in the London season, you watch those who may be seen every day out of doors in walking or driving costume, with whom to dress well is a duty attached to their position, you will not anywhere find better examples of good taste and costly elegance. In these higher circles' of society you may find all that the most fastidious criticism can require; if there are exceptions they are among known eccentricities, and they can be accounted for: but these people have the command of money, they live under a necessity that prescribes propriety in dress, and even great splendour of costume, and what they are to wear, is a question of such magnitude as to require the advice of recognized councillors.

Immense prices are paid to dressmakers, not for sewing seams, or using scissors, but for the judgment

that results from the education of their eyes and the refinement of their taste; these great artistes are paid for making every customer look her best.

To take the entire management of her dress is generally a task beyond the power of a lady in the midst of the worry and work, the toil and trouble of a London season. The gowns required for evening wear are so various, the dresses for daylight must be so many, the head-gear for such a multitude of occasions so skilfully chosen, that she must live under instruction; she must have her prime minister in the fashionable dressmaker, and her next in council the clever waiting-woman, who reminds, suggests, sorts, and considers; who keeps up a vivid remembrance of what her mistress has worn, and where she has worn it; with knots in her memory as to who were there-a mental labour which must not end with the season. Of course there is a terrible list of finery that cannot survive at furthest beyond its second night; but other costumes last longer. By-andby, in the round of the country houses, the perfect handmaiden will take care that the blue brocade shall not be worn where the spiteful Lady X-, who never forgets anything, may see it and smile, because in London she has seen it

twice already. 'Such a pretty dress, Mrs. M-, I always thought so.'

We knew, and greatly respected, a lady, who wrote down daily where she had been, whom she had met, and what she had worn; she enjoyed the reputation of being always well dressed. If she wore a dress twice following at your house it was a proof that she loved and trusted you-she never did it by mistake. But all this belongs to the world of persons who have time, money, and high positions; where ministers and prime ministers are to be had, and with whom to dress is really part of the serious business of life. In these upper regions there is, to say the least, as good dressing as can be found anywhere. 'No wonder!' cries the reader. Well, no wonder! we echo the thought aud the words. All we assert is, that perfect taste in dress is to be found among English women, and that, unquestionably, it is there. We are willing, after much thought, great observation, and years of experience, to go to the utmost limits, and declare that a well-dressed English gentlewoman is the best-dressed woman in the world, and that she can walk in her silk attire better than any woman in Europe, a Spaniard alone excepted.

But if, now, we descend from these highest walks of life and fashion to the broader fields where the multitude meet, and where the nation, in its women, is fairly represented, how is the accusation of our being an ill-dressed people to be met? Not quite so boldly, we must confess. And for good reasons; for, indeed, we must call the reasons we are going to give in explanation, good, knowing mo:ives; but they are only good because of ignorance ignorance of better modes which are even more consistent with those most excellent motives.

Here is a list of 'good' reasons from which bad dressing results.

1. Not to appear as lightly led away by frivolous pleasures.

2. Not to yield to suggestions of personal indulgence.

3. Not to spend more money than might be convenient.

4. Not to be like lovers of change. 5. Not to be thought fast.

Here are five reasons, very good, when the motives are considered in a moral point of view; and very ridiculous, unsound, and, in fact, disgraceful, when examined by the mirror of truth-which every lady should keep in her dressing roomand by common sense.

To take these 'reasons' as they come, let it be at once granted that frivolity is an unbearable vice; but a woman ought to have an honest pleasure in dress, just as she should have pleasure in any successful triumph of civilisation-the perfect cooking of an every day dish, for instance. The every-day things of life, by being habitual, are taken out of the region of frivolous pleasure. If any persons say they really do not care for dress, it is as absurd as to say they do not care for cleanliness-that they see no decency in keeping up respectable habits. To be a sloven is not meritorious; it is, probably, to be idle and lazy, and possibly to be unclean.

In 1802, when Madame Récamier, so celebrated for beauty, talents, and fashion, visited London, she walked in Kensington Gardens dressed à l'antique; that is, as nearly like a draped statue as possible; with her hair down her back, a white veil over her head, and scarcely as many folds in her outer garment, and almost as few under ones as you may see exhibited by the figure of Britannia on a penny. The English ladies then wore very clinging robes, and small straight bonnets, with scarfs and folded draperies, or, perhaps, a fringed, soft shawl hung on the shoulders so as to trail to the ground, and fall away from the arms, preserving as much the general effect of a draped statue as possible, wind and weather permitting. mitting. The amount of absurdity which the contemplation of such elegantes as Madame Récamier presented, was, however, new in the world. It is hard to believe that, only a few years before, our grandmothers were sitting to Sir Joshua Reynolds in the fascinations of a costume which must always claim admiration. The bodies wrapped,

or square, the modest muslins, the hanging lace- and the faces so honest, without a line of the selfconsciousness of the robed à l'antique period-a period when English women looped up their scanty dress on one side only, to show the low slipper and high sandalled ankle as they stood in the pose statuesque; and damped their fleshcoloured silk stockings to show the ankle perfectly, dying of the practice as many did. It now strikes us that it was a heavy price to pay, when to go without stockings would have been safer, as to health, and what the proprieties, other things considered, need not have boggled at. But la frivolité reigned, and had her victims sacrificed to her: we do not think that any woman, under the wholesomer influence of the present day, need fear being entrapped into such idolatry. Indeed, as to that worship, it no longer exists.

As to the second reason on our list, it ought to be dismissed as a mere excuse. To dress well is a trouble, and not an indulgence. Let us pass on. The fear of spending too much money is an honourable timidity, because it has its root in honesty. But it may be doubted if there is any more inconvenient extravagance than neglected dress. For six months or more the prudent lady spends next to nothing. Suddenly, before the year closes, some unthought-of occasion arises when she has to be dressed. The great question comes as to what shall she wear? Money has to be spent; the very money she thought she bad saved; not by little and little, when it would not have been felt, but painfully, in a lump, to her grief, for she had not laid it by; to her impoverishment, for she has to borrow from the future; and probably in her necessity, still desiring to save, and in dread of extravagance, some important details are left out -or an inferior arrangement 'made to do,' and she is not well dressed after all. So fails the third of our reasons, and we come to the fourth.

Let us immediately confess that not to like to be among the lovers of change is a wholesome fear, and

very necessary to her who would be always and really well dressed. And so it seems like a contradiction to say that the rapidity with which English women will give in to the adoption of some particular style on the mere word of a sales woman or a dressmaker that it will be in vogue in the season is well known. English women will never be well dressed till they learn to think for themselves. They must also learn to use their judgment on themselves as those who contemplate their appearance not as a medley of disjointed facts but as a whole. A woman is not well dressed who has on a sweet hat, an exquisite India shawl, a lovely cambric muslin dress, and the smartest pair of be-buttoned boots with 'simulated' lacings. These things may help to make up a well-furnished wardrobe, but they are not intended to be worn together. The extreme of this style was found in the historical Indian chief who received some officers at his levée attired in Hessian boots, a short tiger-skin petticoat, a shell jacket, and a Scotch cap. Last year, the coming in of extremely high-heeled boots, which this year's taste may or may not confirm as an accepted custom, suggested the use of a cane. Charming little dandy walkingsticks supported the almost tottering steps of fashionable belles in the Continental resorts of fashion, and were really very desirable appendages to the costume of a lady whose figure was thrown alarmingly out of the perpendicular. Then, to improve the figure at the waist, an article of dress was worn under the petticoat to make the bending of the back assume a more graceful line. It is not to be denied that a thoroughly well-got-up demoiselle in this style, at all points quite complete, was a very pretty sight. What was the consequence? People were found to use the cane without the shoes, and the panier without either. They had never contemplated themselves as a whole; and a terrible exhibition would be made sometimes when these new things were adopted without the purchase of a new dress or the reform of an old one; or when