you," said she, tartly, as she walked briskly on,
turning at times to point a sarcasm with a fierce
look. "You were punctual enough on Tuesday
last, when you came for your rent. You were
to the very minute then, because it suited
yourself. But you are like all your countrymen—
mean, selfish, and greedy. As to those pears
you brought last, I have struck them off the
account. You may bring others if you please,
but I'll not pay for rotten fruit no more than I
will for three journeys to Como for nothing—
do you hear me, sir?—three journeys to look
after my writing-desk, which I lost on the
Rhine, but which I know was forwarded here,
though I can't get it. Is it worth your while
to answer? Oh, of course, your old excuse—
you are forgetting your English—it is so long
since you were a courier. You knew quite
enough, when I came here, to make me pay
more than double the proper rent for this
miserable place, without a carpet, or—" Just as
she reached thus far, she was joined by one of
the young girls, whose looks had vastly changed
for the better, and was now a strikingly fine
and handsome girl.

"Milly," said the old lady, "take this man
round by the kitchen-garden, and get some
one to take the fruit from him, and be sure you
count the melons."

Not sorry for the change of companionship,
Calvert followed Milly, who, not condescending
to bestow a look on him, moved haughtily on in
front.

"Leave your baskets yonder, my good man,"
said she, pointing to a bench under a spreading
fig-tree; and Calvert, depositing his burden,
drew himself up and removed his hat. "My
aunt will pay you," said she, turning to go away.

"I'd far rather it had been the niece!" said
he, in English.

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"A stranger, who rather than suffer you to
incur the privation of a breakfast without fruit,
rowed across the lake this morning to bring it."

"Won't he go, Milly? What is he bargaining
about?" cried Miss Grainger, coming up.

But the young girl ran hastily towards her,
and for some minutes they spoke in a low tone
together.

"I think it an impertinence—yes, an
impertinence, Milly—and I mean to tell him so!"
said the old lady, fuming with passion. "Such
things are not done in the world. They are
unpardonable liberties. What is your name, sir?"

"Calvert, madam."

"Calvert? Calvert? Not Calvert of Rocksley?"
said she, with a sneer.

"No, ma'am, only his nephew."

"Are you his nephew, really his nephew?"
said she, with a half incredulity.

"Yes, madam, I have that very unprofitable
honour. If you are acquainted with the family,
you will recognise their crest;" and he detached
a seal from his watch-chain and handed it to her.

"Quite true, the portcullis and the old motto,
'Ferme en Tombant.' I know, or rather I
knew your relatives once, Mr. Calvert;" this
was said with a total change of manner, and a
sort of simpering politeness that sat very ill
upon her.

Quick enough to mark this change of manner
and profit by it, he said, somewhat coldly,
"Have I heard your name, madam. Will you
permit me to know it?"

"Miss Grainger, sir. Miss Adelaide Grainger"
—reddening as she spoke.

"Never heard that name before. Will you
present me to this young lady?" And thus with
an air of pretension, whose impertinence was
partly covered by an appearance of complete
unconsciousness, he bowed and smiled, and
chatted away till the servant announced breakfast.

To the invitation to join them, he vouchsafed
the gentlest bend of the head, and a half smile
of acceptance, which, the young lady resented
by a stare that might have made a less
accomplished master of impertinence blush to the
very forehead. Calvert was, however, a
proficient in his art.

As they entered the breakfast-room, Miss
Grainger presented him to a young and very
delicate-looking girl, who lay on a sofa propped
up by cushions, and shrouded with shawls,
though the season was summer.

"Florence, Mr. Calvert. Miss Florence Walter.
An invalid come to benefit by the mild air
of Italy, sir, but who feels even these breezes
too severe and too bracing for her."

"Egypt is your place," said Calvert; "one of
those nice villas on the sea slope of Alexandretta,
with the palm-trees and the cedars to
keep off the sun;" and seating himself by
her side in an easy familiar way, devoid of all
excess of freedom, talked to her about health
and sickness in a fashion that is very pleasant to
the ears of suffering. And he really talked
pleasantly on the theme. It was one of which
he had already some experience. The young
wife of a brother-officer of his own had gained,
in such a sojourn as he pictured, health enough
to go on to India, and was then alive and well,
up in the Hill country above Simlah.

"Only fancy, aunt, what Mr. Calvert is
promising me—to be rosy-cheeked," said the poor
sick girl, whose pale face caught a slight pinkish
tint as she spoke.

"I am not romancing in the least," said
Calvert, taking his place next Milly at the table.
"The dryness ot the air, and the equitable
temperature, work, positively, miracles;" and
he went on telling of cures and recoveries.
When at last he arose to take leave, it was
amidst a shower of invitations to come back,
and pledges on his part to bring with him some
sketches of the scenery of Lower Egypt, and
some notes he had made of his wanderings
there.

"By the way," said he, as he gained the door,
"have I your permission to present a friend who
lives with me—a strange, bashful, shy creature,
very good in his way, though that way isn't
exactly my way; but really clever and well read, I
believe. May I bring him? Of course I hope