‘Hush, hush!’ exclaimed Mrs. Barton, bursting with laughter; and, placing her hand (which was instantly fervently kissed) upon Milord’s mouth, she said:  ‘I will hear no more of that wicked poetry.’

‘What! hear no more of the divine Alfred de Musset?’ Milord answered, as if a little discouraged.

‘Hush, hush!’

Alice entered, having come from her room to fetch a book, but seeing the couple on the sofa she tried to retreat, adding to her embarrassment and to theirs by some ill-expressed excuses.

‘Don’t run away like that,’ said Mrs. Barton; ’don’t behave like a charity-school girl.  Come in.  I think you know Lord Dungory.’

‘Oh! this is the studious one,’ said Milord, as he took Alice affectionately with both hands, and drew her towards him.  ’Now look at this fair brow; I am sure there is poetry here.  I was just speaking to your mother about Alfred de Musset.  He is not quite proper, it is true, for you girls; but oh, what passion!  He is the poet of passion.  I suppose you love Byron?’

‘Yes; but not so much as Shelley and Keats,’ said Alice enthusiastically, forgetting for the moment her aversion to the speaker in the allusion to her favourite pursuit.

’The study of Shelley is the fashion of the day.  You know, I suppose, the little piece entitled Love’s Philosophy—­“The fountains mingle with the river; the river with the ocean.”  You know “Nothing in the world is single:  all things, by a law divine, in one another’s being mingle.  Why not I with thine?"’

‘Oh yes, and the Sensitive Plant.  Is it not lovely?’

’There is your book, my dear; you must run away now.  I have to talk with Milord about important business.’

Milord looked disappointed at being thus interrupted in his quotations; but he allowed himself to be led back to the sofa.  ’I beg your pardon for a moment,’ said Mrs. Barton, whom a sudden thought had struck, and she followed her daughter out of the room.

’Instead of wasting your time reading all this love-poetry, Alice, it would be much better if you would devote a little of your time to your sister; she is left all alone, and you know I don’t care that she should be always in Barnes’ society.’

’But what am I to do, mamma?  I have often asked Olive to come out with me, but she says I don’t amuse her.’

‘I want you to win her thoughts away from Captain Hibbert,’ said Mrs. Barton; ’she is grieving her heart out and will be a wreck before we go to Dublin.  Tell her you heard at Dungory Castle that he was flirting with other girls, that he is not worth thinking about, and that the Marquis is in love with her.’

‘But that would be scarcely the truth, mamma,’ Alice replied hesitatingly.