never do to overplay her part. "You should see what a life of it poor Marie leads. You only see me at my best, you

know."

"So like you, dear! So like you!" murmured Lord Leftbury, turning his kind eyes towards her and smiling as his glance met hers. "My own, dear little Mary! So good, so affectionate always to her poor old father."

Sometimes, just sometimes, when he made such a speech as this, Mary felt inclined to laugh. She had not at all a warm heart or a sympathetic nature, and it never entered her mind to feel ashamed of the way in which she was treating this kindhearted old man; that was the very last idea which would ever have troubled Mary Dunstable. She had not at all a nice disposition; of good-feeling she was utterly devoid. So, sometimes she felt inclined to laugh when he spoke to her like this; and she did so now. She wished much that he would not fix his gaze so directly upon her face; the ridiculous side of the matter had struck her forcibly, and she would have given almost anything just then if she could have smiled.

"And so I ought to be," she returned briskly; “but you cannot say it is good of me to keep you here?"

For a few seconds he said nothing. He wished to tell her that he had sent for Dr. Sleek, but he did not wish to alarm her by doing so — and somehow or other he knew instinctively that his having done so would not please her. He never could understand why, but lately Mary seemed to have taken a strong dislike to his old friend, Sleek.

"No," he replied at last, affecting a lightness of tone which he was far from feeling. "You are very far from being good, Miss Mary. I had hoped that ankle of yours would have been much better than it is by now."

"So had I," said Mary, in a low, rather plaintive tone.

"I know, I know, my darling!" murmured Lord Leftbury quickly; "I ought not to tease you about it, poor child."

"I am sure I would get better quicker if I could," replied Mary, with a smile, "you know that very well."

"Of course I do, dear! It is very hard that you should be laid up so long"-then, after a pause-" What about Berry, Mary, does he strike you as being a clever man? Do you think he quite understands your case?"

"Yes, oh yes!" was the quick reply. "I think he seems clever, I have no reason for not thinking so."

"He does not seem to quite understand your case though, to me, my dear," returned Lord Leftbury quietly.

"There is really nothing about it that requires any particular understanding, that I can see," objected Mary, a slight flush in her cheeks and an uneasy expression in her fine, dark eyes.

"It seems to get no better," was the persistent reply. "It must either be a very bad sprain, or Berry does not treat it properly."

"It is a bad sprain, Papa," said Mary quickly.

"The day after I came here, Doctor Berry gave me to understand that it was not," was the quiet reply. "He distinctly told me that he had at first imagined the injury to be far more serious than it really was, and that since the swelling had gone down he had discovered that it was only slight. At that time he hoped that you would soon be about again as usual."

"Ah,” said Mary, who had been thinking deeply, and who saw breakers, which she wished to ward off, looming ahead, "no doubt he said that to reassure you; myself, I think it is always best to state the plain truth and nothing but it; but he meant it for the best, do not let us blame him."

Well, well, we will not blame him yet, of course," replied Lord Leftbury, "but do you not think it would be just as well if some other doctor saw your ankle? Two heads are generally better than one."

"Oh, no, Papa," was the quick reply. "Pray say no more about it!—the idea is ridiculous!-Two doctors for a sprained ankle!" and Mary laughed; her laugh to Lord Leftbury seemed natural and amused, but to her own ears it sounded forced and harsh.

"For my own satisfaction, I should like another doctor to see you," returned Lord Leftbury firmly, but in a gentle tone.

"You have already called one in ?" exclaimed Mary, in a manner so excited that he turned and looked at her in mute surprise.

"Yes," he replied soothingly. "Do not be so disturbed about it; there is really no reason why you should be so, my dear." Mary, who in her excitement had risen up into a sitting position, lay quietly down again. Her breath came quickly and

she was rather pale; but, to anyone who was not a close observer, she seemed to have perfectly recovered her composure. "No, of course not," she replied calmly, "only, as you know, I do hate a fuss of any sort."

"There need be no fuss at all. Nothing is more natural than that I should send for Doctor Sleek," returned Lord Leftbury, with a reassuring smile.

For a second or two Mary made no reply; then she looked up and her eyes met his.

"Perhaps so," she agreed quietly. "It is, of course, just as you like, Papa."

(To be continued)

BELGRAVIA

OCTOBER, 1891.

Interference.

BY B. M. CROKER,

Author of "PROPER PRIDE," "PRETTY MISS NEVILLE,"
"DIANA BARRINGTON," "TWO MASTERS," &c.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MRS. REDMOND'S CONFESSION.

"I'll tell to thee my hopes and fears,
And all my heart to thee confess."

-MAXWELL.

THE flame of Mrs. Redmond's life flickered along unsteadily from day to day, and month to month. She was now entirely bed-ridden, and the strain of constant nursing wore Betty down a good deal. Occasionally Maria Finny came and spent an hour or two in the sick room-and subsequently spread alarming reports in the village, where deaths and births were the only exciting events; a marriage was rare indeed. Once she even went so far as to assure Mrs. Maccabe, that the dying woman "could not possibly put over the night," and to request that a very superior sirloin (then hanging in the shop) should be immediately set aside for the funeral breakfast! but when Maria hurried to Noone the next morning she found the invalid not merely alive, but better-better and fretful.

"Ah," she said in answer to Maria's query, "I was bad enough yesterday—yes, you thought I was going-I could have died if I liked, long ago, but I am holding on-holding on—at least till the next mail comes in."

All she seemed to care for now was the Indian mail, but how many mails came in and brought her no letters! Belle was enjoying herself without a thought of her. It was Betty who was her real daughter, the girl whom she had wronged. Every one else was going from her, and she was going from every one! The old lady was not in a happy frame of mind, she was filled with remorse now.

Betty's determined refusal of Ghosty Moore had opened her eyes, but had occasioned no surprise to Miss Dopping. That excellent lady had her own private views, and was truly concerned to see her young friend so hollow-eyed and pale, so different from what she used to be! But Betty never uttered a word of complaint, and she struggled along bravely under the heavy tasks imposed on her; she was a-foot all day-the first to rise, the last to go to rest. Miss Dopping drove over one afternoon to have a serious talk with Mrs. Redmond, about getting a professional nurse to take some of the load off Betty's shoulders, but the miserly patient turned a deaf ear to her suggestion. A trained nurse would require wages, she would certainly eat-possibly she would drink porter.

"Betty," she declared, "did very well. Betty could manage alone."

And as the wish was father to the thought, Mrs. Redmond believed it, and relapsed into her normal condition of torpid selfishness.

"I don't know what I should do without her, or what she will do without me," she groaned. "It's a great trial that she won't look at Ghosty Moore. She has refused him twice. I can't understand her, and the Moores so fond of her, and such a splendid connection, and for Belle too. It's too bad of Betty. Have you any idea of her real reason?"

"I believe I have," replied Miss Dopping with unexpected promptness. "I always thought that George Holroyd was in love with Betty, and that she had a fancy for him." As she spoke she looked sharply at her questioner, and Mrs. Redmond's face betrayed her; she was weak, and had lost the command of her countenance.

Her eyes fell, her lips twitched nervously, a faint guilty colour stole into her pallid face.

In a second the astute old maid had guessed all, and felt