my gift that way all runs to seed in correspondence. Let me

see:

"Mrs. Lancaster, happy girl, married to the match of the Season (well, she was the beauty of the Season, so why should she not do so), amiable, rich, and handsome. The ménage goes swimmingly for three years, then Mr. Lancaster takes to plunging heavily a regular Jubilee plunger. Wife's entreaties of no avail. Then Mr. Lancaster (oh, Tom !) takes to plunging in the direction of a Signora Sorella, and Mrs. Lancaster refuses to entreat or forgive. Yes, I daresay I was a bit hasty," is Mrs. Lancaster's half-murmured reverie to-day. Separation on the tapis; nine days' wonder (but the separation lasts longer). Heigh ho! and now Mrs. Lancaster is being driven down Bond Street in a hansom, her husband occupying the lofty position of driver behind.

"Poor darling, how wet he must be getting up there."

There was a block just at the corner as they turned into Piccadilly. Mrs. Lancaster profited by the occasion. She took her umbrella and pushed up the sky-light.

It was immediately opened.

Mr. Lancaster looked down, Mrs. Lancaster looked up. "Do you want to get out? I am afraid you cannot ! may have to wait here a quarter-of-an-hour."

We

"It isn't that," she answered. "I wanted to know, er-I thought, er-I wanted to ask. Oh, Tom dear, aren't you very wet and cold up there?"

"Thank you, one could scarcely expect there should be a drought up here, or to find it parchingly hot-but I'm quite comfortable, thank you all the same." With a male's inconsistency.

Down went the sky-light. The great stagnation slowly uprose and they drove on again. It had begun to clear up. Mrs. Lancaster thought she knew her way about Town, but Mr. Lancaster should have known it still better, and yet he took her round Grosvenor Place as a means to reaching Park Lane. It seemed as if he took a pleasure in driving her by the most opposite and round-about route.

Perhaps he wasn't thinking of where he was going; perhaps— a little quick sob quivered up to her lips and she bit them—perhaps he too was thinking of those days at Venice, Nice, Vienna. Per

haps he was thinking that if only she had been not quite so hard and unforgiving when his fancy had rather wandered towards La Sorella, with her ten-and-sixpenny a bottle "Golderine" hair, attracted probably more by her diablerie than anything elseperhaps, if she had been a little softer, he might have told her of the real remorse he felt for his inconstancy, the remorse of having lost all his income (thereby indirectly reducing her own), spent in goodness knows what follies, that had played the very mischief with the dollars. Had she been gentler, perhaps, he might not have been exalted to the high position he now occupied, which, with hanging, is probably the only position of elevation which does not bring exaltation along with it.

She had money of her own, a good fifteen hundred a year, and when the final split came-a split born of a very small rift-he had been too proud to let her know how his money matters stood, and so it came about that husband and wife had not met for quite a year, and that during the last five weeks he had driven a raking bay about London, harnessed to a luxurious "S. T." hansom.

And he? well, he was thinking of what a thundering ass he had been, and how he had tried her love and faith in him.

And she? well, had she too not flirted just a bit with Lord Raicque and Colonel Targent, and when he had remonstrated ever so little had not she flared out on him, and thrust that odious yellow-haired Signora Sorella in his face?

"I wish he wouldn't drive quite so fast," she thought. "Wc shall get home so soon if he does."

They were passing a restaurant. towards it, and he drew up instantly.

She slanted her umbrella

"If you don't mind," she said, "I am just going in for a glass of wine, I feel a little faint."

It was no such thing, for in two minutes she was out again, the wine untouched and the glass in her hand.

"You must have got so wet and cold, I wish you would you?" she stammered timidly-"would you mind just taking a little-to-to-please me?"

She had taken off her glove, and the broad wedding-band caught his eyes. A spasm of pain came upon his face. It was like driving your fist through a mirror and smashing the smooth, even surface into bits.

"Thank you," he said, a little unsteadily, in a rather husky voice, as he descended slowly from his perch.

"Oh! I will take it in for you."

"I could not think of giving a lady my glass to put down," he answered, with his old characteristic courtesy towards the womanhood.

Two" young ladies" behind the bar, had been watching the proceeding.

"Goodness gracious, Louie," said one, "well, I declare! Fine ladies do carry on nicely. She's giving him her wine-there's no accounting for tastes."

Quoth her friend. "There's every accounting for them, when it's a tawny moustache."

About a quarter of an hour later the hansom drew up in Norfolk Street.

Mrs. Lancaster got out and walked slowly up the steps; before ringing, she turned round. A little ragamuffin was inspecting her.

Would you like a sixpence?" she asked him gravely. A superfluous question, to which he replied, with the knowledge of past experience to guide him, and a wisdom beyond his nine winters:

Sixpences were not to be 'ad for nothin'."

"Of course not," she answered, " and you have only to hold the horse's head for a little, you needn't be afraid," she added, rashly guaranteeing the beast's peaceful nature," and you shall have sixpence."

Thus, having reduced the legion of unemployed by one, she turned and rang the bell.

"Do you mind coming in for a few minutes ?" she said addressing her husband, "I want to tell you something."

He looked at her for an instant, then settled his whip in its socket, tied the reins securely, and descended slowly.

"But the servants?"

"The only two whom you will see are new ones."

The door opened-" Dinner at once, and lay another place at table."

"You remember this, and this" (pausing before some picture, or some hanging), and this vase; do you remember how nearly I was drowned out of that gondola in Venice—it was just

opposite those glass works, and you insisted on our going in and buying something to remind you how thankful you were that it had ended in nothing worse than a drenching?"

"I have forgotten nothing," he answered gravely.

"Not even the way to your dressing-room?" she said archly, turning round.

"Not even the way to my dressing-room," replied Mr. Lancaster.

"I daresay the gas isn't lighted though."

She led the way, and they entered the room together.

The door between it and her room was open, and he looked in - he did more he advanced a few paces and stood in the

door-way.

He could not have crossed the threshold had it

been his most earnest desire.

He devoured every object, a thousand memories crowding to his weary brain, but his face did not change, and his wife watched him closely all the while. She watched him as he glanced at the two easy chairs—one at each side of the blazing fire; how often they had occupied them in the happy past! Only then, to be sure, they had been drawn close, side by side, and they had proved the fallibility of the rule that "two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time." She watched him as his eyes turned to the duchesse toilet-table, with its large centre glass-in front of which he had often made her stand-whilst he bade her mark what a handsome couple they made. He drew a sharp breath, and a spasm shot across his face, leaving it a shade or two whiter. He glanced up-his wife was looking at him in breathless stillness; she turned quickly and left the room.

He found his way down about ten minutes afterwards — Mrs. Lancaster took a little longer.

There was a soft dewiness about her eyes as she came and stood beside him. Husband's and wife's hands met in a quick, close grip, and a feeling of infinite love came nestling round his heart.

"Tom," she began, wistfully.

"Yes, Cecile ?"-questioningly.

There was no time for another word, the door-handle was slowly moving round.

"It's my sheep-dog-Miss Meeson," she whispered, her breath

coming and going, for a sudden, puzzlesome question had arisen in her mind. She had forgotten all about Miss Meeson; to tell the truth, she had not taken her into account at all. What was she to do and say? Introduce Tom, as this afternoon's hansom cab-driver, and nothing else? Goodness! no, it would not be possible. Introduce him as a friend only? Yes, but what if there were to come a reconciliation? how horrid and deceitful it would look. But, introduce Tom as her husband! (a quick throb at her heart) what if he insisted on their remaining only friends? What if he should reject the projected forgiveness? What if he should exclaim-“ Pardon me, I was her husband at one time, but Mrs. Lancaster decided to dissolve the partnership." What agony and humiliation!

The door opened, and the dear humble old sheep-dog entered far too meek of aspect to cow any ravening wolf, except by her old-fashioned stately sweetness.

"Miss Meeson," said Mrs. Lancaster, faltering, "Miss Meeson, dear, we have a guest at dinner to-night; let me introduce Tom-my Tom! The man who was ever, and ever will be, the dearest and best of men. There there was a slight misunderstanding, almost all my fault, but we have found, he and I-me -that's to say-I mean he-we-" There was a pucker on her face; she faltered, and then said, tremulously and with exquisite tenderness: "He is my dear husband!" Then she smiled up in his face, and laid her head on his shoulder, as much out of the fulness of her love, as to hide that awful cabman's badge, which blazed hugely on his breast. Then she laughed—a queer little laugh, that had a glimpse of tears in it not so very far off.

Miss Meeson held out her hand with a much puzzled air, but Mr. Lancaster saw neither that, nor the look. His eyes were moistened with unshed tears, and his wife's head, when he glanced down, seemed to be some blurred mass of golden brown on his shoulder, and the lights seemed suddenly to have got misty and to flicker up and down.

"I left my spectacles in the other room," said Miss Meeson, softly, though she was peering through them as she spoke.

I think that there was something very like a look of rapture on both husband's and wife's faces.

"You have forgotten to pay me my fare," he said after a bit. "Do you chisel all your cabbies out of their fares, dear?"