The Tysons (Mr. and Mrs. Nevill Tyson)

ation (as if to be Tyson's wife was not education enough for

he existence of Molly Wilcox till sh

woman! Her comings and goings from one Continental watering-place to another had been the progress of a triumphant divinity; where she found an hotel she left a temple. I sometimes think, too, that little look of expectant gladness may have been due to the feeling that the Rectory was in England, and England was home. She was dressed in the most perfect Parisian fashion, from the crown of her fur toque to the tips of her little shoes; but she had never learne

Batchelor), and chattered away about her honeymoon, her bad French, the places she had been to, the people she had seen, and all without any consciousness of her delightful self. Now it was a continuous stream of minute talk, growing shallower and shallower as it spread over a larger surface; and now her mind had hardly settled on its subject before it was off and away again like a butterfly. There was one advantage in this excessive lightness of touch, that it left great things as it found them, for great things lay lightly on her soul. S

iful statues in the Vatican,"

loveliest woman I ever saw in my life. Everybody was in love with her-down on their knees groveling, you couldn't help it. Fancy, she was engaged to ten people at once! I suppose she had ten engagement rings-o

chorus of

and why shouldn't she be engaged to ten

us the lady's name, so

never can remember not to tell things. Oh-Countess-Poli-Polidor

tach itself and float about the room, and Miss Batchelor perceived with a

change the subject; perhaps he felt that by talking about cathedrals to Mrs. Nevill Ty

Peter's and th

hat St. Peter's is very like our own S

n the honeymoon" (that joke was Tyson's), "and a lot he knows about it. There's th

self agreeable to Miss Batchel

helor, that you ar

d on a work of fiction, which indeed may have be

who told

listen to scandal, and

believe that a woma

e now; but in every instance it meant-I shall h

. I have no

or. There was a time when Miss Batchelor had admired Tyson. He was not handsome; but his face had character, and she liked character. Now she hated him and

under the look-"is a great misfortune-to a woman. Look at my wife now. She has about as much intellect as a g

drawn the line nowhere that day. There was no mistaking the tall figure, alert and vigorous, the lean dark face, a little eager, a little hard. And that very clever woman Miss Batchelor sat hungry an