she held a candle and was carrying her costume, she fell awkwardly, spraining her wrist and ankle. Finding that she was not maimed for life, Lady Ardmore turned with comical and unsympathetic haste to Francesca, so completely do amateur theatricals dry the milk of kindness in the human breast.
"Put on these clothes at once," she said imperiously, knowing nothing of the volcanoes beneath the surface. "Hynde Horn is already on the stage, and somebody must be Jean. Take care of Miss Dalziel, girls, and ring for more maids. Hélène, help me dress Miss Monroe: put on her slippers while I lace her gown; run and fetch more jewels,—more still,—she can carry off any number; not any rouge, Hélène,—she has too much color now; pull the frock more off the shoulders,—it 's a pity to cover an inch of them; pile her hair higher,—here, take my diamond tiara, child; hurry, Hélène, fetch the silver cup and the cake—no, they are on the stage; take her train, Hélène. Miss Hamilton, run and open the doors ahead of them, please. I won't go down for this tableau. I'll put Miss Dalziel right, and then I'll slip into the drawing-room, to be ready for the guests when they come in."
We hurried breathlessly through an interminable series of rooms and corridors. I gave the signal to Mr. Beresford, who was nervously wait-
