are everything a husband could wish. Could
you ask for a handsomer testimonial?'' he added.
trying to smile. "No; I am odd, strange,
eccentric, given to humour—now in good
spirits, now the reverse. You have an equable
turn of temper, to be envied. That is a blessing;
but it is my misfortune and fault."

She was going with a deep sigh, when he
called her back softly. "Now," said he, "about
this ball. You must be splendid. So to oblige
me", he added, taking his cheque-book, "you
must have this." And he began to "fill in''
rapidly for two hundred; a "little bonus," he
called it.

It was the day of the Bunnett ball, in the afternoon,
when Mr. Tillotson was at the bank, and
his wife had ordered her carriage expressly to
visit Madame Adelaide, when she heard a step
on the stair, and Mr. Tilney, an unfrequent
visitor now, came in hurriedly.

"My dear child, here's a business," he said.
"I saw the carriage at the door, but I knew
you were in. I declare I don't know what we
are coming to, or where the world is going to
end!" And Mr. Tilney dropped into a chair,
and looked round with a really worried and
hopeless expression.

She asked him calmly, "What is it, dear
father? I am prepared for anything."

"What is it?" repeated he; "what should it
be? The old quarter, you may be sure! That
fellow Ross, that disgrace to us all, who'll end
on the gallows—mark my words! on the
gallows tree, as sure—as sure as you spell my name
with a T."

She turned a little pale. "And what has
happened now?"

"What has he done?—disgraced us, ruined
us all, pointed the finger of scorn as we go
by. Only think, a gentleman, and a gentleman's
son, dragged away by common bailiffs
to a common sponging-house. No effects, no
assets, nothing to meet the law, and then
writes to me telling me to send him—let me
see," added Mr. Tilney, taking a letter out
of his pocket to be strictly accurate, "one
hundred and ninety-eight pounds ten shillings
(one-ninety-eight ten), to satisfy the detainer and
costs."

"Poor, unfortunate, miserable Ross," said she,
with sympathy; "always from one misfortune
to another. What is to become of him?"

"You know, my dear, the idea of coming to
me was ludicrous, simply ludicrous. I laughed
again when I read—I, with all my claims. Not
to be thought of. But the idea flashed on me at
once like an injunction. You and Tillotson were
obviously the quarter from which relief should
come. And see," added Mr. Tilney, in a ruminative
way, "see the delicacy of the fellow after
all. He had a natural repugnance to trespass
on his old flame, and as for Tillotson, I can quite
understand his not thinking of him."

"But how can I help him?" she said,
distractedly; "where can I get so much money? I
cannot ask my husband; no, I cannot . He has
given me money to-day already. Indeed, no."

Mr. Tilney smiled with great satisfaction.
"See how things fall out. There you are, you
see, like a miracle."

"But this was for a particular purpose," she
said. "Dear father, you don't see the difficulty."

"Well, devote this money to him, and get
more for the particular purpose. I know
Tillotson. I'll answer for him. He is munificent
in his ideas, absolutely. Just go to him and
tell him the whole; or shall I?"

Long she thought it over. There was deep
pity in her heart for this unhappy, most
miserable being, whose days seemed doomed to
misfortune, and for whose misfortunes she herself
was not a little accountable. At last she came
to a resolve; she thought it a duty to send what
she had. Later, she could mention it to her
husband—in a week, say. She sent away her
two hundred pound cheque to the direction
given her by Mr. Tilney.

Madame Adelaide had surpassed herself. As
Mrs. Tillotson stood in her drawing-room, one
of the most brilliant figures that could be
conceived, her dress rich with tulle and laces, and
lit up with the faint colouring of a delicate mauve
ribbon. There were diamonds which nestled in
the bouquets of tulle; and above, the gorgeous
golden hair was reflected softly and richly in the
glasses of the room. Mr. Tillotson looked at her
with admiration, and said, with a sort of pride,
"This is what I wished you to do;" then sighed
deeply. "You have put that little sum to the
best uses; you must come to me to-morrow
again. You do not ask half enough."

Suddenly she clasped her hands. "O, then,
if you would! / do not want it so much,
but——"

His face grew cold and contracted. "We
shall be late," he said, "and the carriage is
waiting."

CHAPTER XVIII. THE BUNNETT BALL.

MRS. BUNNETT'S ball was "done in really
first-class style," as one of her friends described
it. The house was in a Bayswater square, built
specially for Bunnett by a City architect, who
had "turned out" many an insurance office and
warehouse with the "true palatial effect"—that
is, once conceding that great surfaces of plate-
glass, and abundant carvings, and a series of
architectural sentry-boxes, make up the ideal
of palatial effect. The house was sumptuous,
with gardens and a porch and a showy
greenhouse full of the rarest plants, "brought
special from Bulmer," as the friend, Nelgrove,
took care to tell every one. The house was
full of statues and pictures. On this night the
house was illuminated from top to bottom, and
the pretty sort of lantern which was on the top
stairs was lit up in a "ravishing" manner.
Everywhere along the stairs and passages were
the exotics from Bulmer. Part of the garden
had been taken in, covered over with an
awning, lit with Chinese lanterns, and
literally piled with plants and flowers "from
Bulmer." As you came up-stairs or went down,