me your name, but I've clean forgotten it.' Then, when Paul had announced it again, he said to his sister, 'That won't tell you much; there are bushels of Robinsons in the north. But you'll like him; he's a very smart little fellow; I met him at the Poupins.' 'Puppin' would represent the sound by which he designated the French bookbinder, and that was the name by which Hyacinth always heard him called at Mr. Crookenden's. Hyacinth knew how much nearer to the right thing he himself came.
'Your name, like mine, represents a flower,' said the little woman in the bed. 'Mine is Rose Muniment, and her ladyship's is Aurora Langrish. That means the morning, or the dawn; it's the most beautiful of all, don't you think so?' Rose Muniment addressed this inquiry to Hyacinth, while Lady Aurora gazed at her shyly and mutely, as if she admired her manner, her self-possession and flow of conversation. Her brother lighted one of the visitor's candles, and the girl went on, without waiting for Hyacinth's response: 'Isn't it right that she should be called the dawn, when she brings light where she goes? The Puppins are the charming foreigners I have told you about,' she explained to her friend.
'Oh, it's so pleasant knowing a few foreigners!' Lady Aurora exclaimed, with a spasm of expression. 'They are often so very fresh.'
'Mr. Robinson's a sort of foreigner, and he's very fresh,' said Paul Muniment. 'He meets Mr. Puppin quite on his own ground. If I had his command of the lingo it would give me a lift.'
'I'm sure I should be very happy to help you with your French. I feel the advantage of knowing it,' Hyacinth re-
