The Well-Beloved

suspended by the news of his father's sudden death at Sandbourne, whither t

e amount for a business so unostentatiously carried on-much larger than Jocelyn had ever regarded as possible. While the son had been modelling and chipping his ephemeral fancies into perennial shapes, the father had been persistently chiselling for half a century at the crude original matter of those shapes, the stern, isolated rock in the Channel; and by the

ere-he returned to town. He often wondered what had become of Marcia. He had promised never to trouble her; nor for a whole t

one back to the isle. Possibly she had formed some new tie abroad,

want of knowing what better to do, he responded to an invitation sent by one of the few ladies of rank whom he numbe

ceived in a moment that the customary 'small and early' reception had resolved itself on this occasion into something very like great and late. He remembered that there had just been a political crisis, which accou

rriages to the door on the carpet laid for the purpose. He had not seen their faces, nothing of them but vague forms, and yet he was suddenly seized with a presentiment. Its gist was that he might be going to re-encounter the Well-Beloved that night: after her recent long hiding she meant to reappe

d the hall, where a simmer of excitement was perceptible as surplus or overflow from above down the staircase-a feature

regarded as a young man, though he was now about forty.) 'O yes, of course, I remember,' she added, looking serious in a moment at thought of

t crisis; and that, as for herself, she had sworn to abjure politics for ever on account of it, so that he was to regard her forth

or somebody-I can

dy,' said

and I'll try to t

don't know

What is s

her, not even her c

very hostess he had conversed with, who was charming always, and particularly charming to-night; he was just feeling an incipient consternation at the possibility of such a jade's trick in his Beloved, who had once before chosen to embody herself as a

ublic questions was only less conspicuous than the paucity of original ideas. No principles of wise government had place in any mind, a blunt and jolly personalism as to the Ins and Outs animating al

he moment, though he had done so at other times, that this presentiment of meeting

e, and it was on her that Pierston's attention was directed, as well as the great statesman's, whose first sheer gaze at her, expressing 'Who are you?' almost audibly, changed into an interested, listening look as the few words she spoke were uttered-for the Minister differed from many of his stan

r it was Jocelyn could not hear it-the

nt that his Shelleyan 'One-shape-of-many-names' was about to reappear, paid little

Lady Channelcliffe bringing up somebody to present to the ex-Minister; the ladies got mixed, and

nothing between it and the fair skin of her neck, lending her an unusually soft and sylph-like aspect. She saw him, and they converged. Her look of 'What do you think of me NOW?' was

to tell me whether they are good,' she said.

portraits, taken by the last fashionable photographer, were very good, and he told her so; but as he spoke and compared them his

ston, and upon one in particular, a man of thirty, of military appearance, whom Pierston did not know. Quite convinced now that no phantom belonging to him was contained in the outlines of the present young lady, he could coolly survey her as he respo

unted these places, and jeeringly pointed out that under the white hair of this or that ribanded old man, with a forehead grown wrinkled over treaties which had swayed the fortunes of Europe, with a voice which had numbered sovereigns among its re

d. Their eyes met, far off as they were from each other. Pierston laughed inwardly: it was only in ticklish excitement as to whether this was to prove a

and almost the first thing that friend said to him was: 'Who is that pretty

th incipient jealousy: 'I was ju

ord Channelcliffe had turned back for an instant: 'I find she is the granddaughter of my father's old friend, the last Lord

of his-the Lady Mabella Buttermead, who appeared in a cloud of muslin and was going on to a ball-had been brought against him by the tide. A w

ng-so sad-she lost her husband. Well, it was a long time ago now, certainly. Women ought not to marry and lay themselves open to

never,' said P

ngly returned, and she added: 'But sometimes I think I may, just for the fun of it. Now we'll stee

ly rush," like the citizens who

esired one, who, as she discoursed wi

whose gestures

his Vision of the

egard of shoulder-blades, back hair, glittering headgear, neck-napes, moles, hairpins, pearl-powder, pimples, minerals cut into facets of many-coloured rays, necklace-clasps, fans, stays, the seven styles of elbow and arm, the thirteen varietie

worse to-night, owing to these dreadful politics! But we've done it.'

ndulged in one of the too frequent inventions in that kind. When the youngest of the trio had ma

artificially, were without a speck or blemish of the least degree. The gentle, thoughtful creature she had looked from a distance she now proved herself to be; she

ment caused by the arrival of some late comers with more news. The latter had been brought by a

de which he was standing. 'I wouldn't be like my cousin, over there, for the world.

pity is that politics are looked on as being a game for politicians, just as cri

at "the nation of every country dwel

wonder to hear

mes, and the wisdom of the nation should be directed to finding it, instead of zigzagging

d under the steaming nostrils of an ambassador's horses to a hansom which waited for him against the railing of the square, he had an impression that the

ng of that Jumping Jill. He had lately been trying his artist hand again on the Dea's form in every conceivable phase and mood. He had become a one-part man-