of free correspondence, may not rob the flowers of some of that delicate aroma which we used to appreciate, may be a question; but then it is also a question whether there does not come something in place of it which in the long-run is found to be more valuable.  Florence, when this remark was made as to her own power of sending and receiving letters, remained silent, but looked very firm.  She thought that it would have been difficult to silence her after this fashion.  “Sir Magnus could have done it, at any rate, if I had not been able.”

“Sir Magnus could have done nothing, I think, which would not have been within your power.  But it is useless talking of this.  Will you not take me back to England, so as to prevent the necessity of Harry coming here?”

“Why should he come?”

“Because, mamma, I intend to see my future husband before he goes from me for so great a distance, and for so long a time.  Don’t you feel any pity for me, mamma?”

“Do you feel pity for me?”

“Because one day you wish me to marry my cousin Scarborough, and the next Mr. Anderson, and then the next M. Grascour?  How can I pity you for that?  It is all done because you have taken it in your head to think ill of one whom I believe to be especially worthy.  You began by disliking him, because he interfered with your plans about Mountjoy.  I never would have married my cousin Mountjoy.  He is not to my taste, and he is a gambler.  But you have thought that you could do what you liked with me.”

“It has always been for your own happiness.”

“But I must be the judge of that.  How could I be happy with any of these men, seeing that I do not care for them in the least?  It would be utterly impossible for me to have myself married to either of them.  To Harry Annesley I have given myself altogether; but you, because you are my mother, are able to keep us apart.  Do you not pity me for the sorrow and trouble which I must suffer?”

“I suppose a mother always pities the sufferings of a child.”

“And removes them when she can do so.  But now, mamma, is he to come here, or will you take me back to England?”

This was a question which Mrs. Mountjoy found it very difficult to answer.  On the spur of the moment she could not answer it, as it would be necessary that she should first consult Sir Magnus.  Could Sir Magnus undertake to confine her daughter within the precincts of the Embassy, and to exclude the lover during such time as Harry Annesley night remain in Brussels?

As she thought of the matter in her own room she conceived that there would be a great difficulty.  All the world of Brussels would become aware of what was going on.  The young lady would endeavor to get out, and could only be constrained by the co-operation of the servants; and the young gentleman, in his endeavors to get in, could only be prevented by the assistance of the police.  Dim ideas presented themselves