Just as devoid of one speck of cleanliness as her body is of one speck of dirt, and I protest that the poor drudge toiling along the street beside her grimy mate, who loves and is faithful to him, possessing a sturdy virtue of her own, is ten thousand times sweeter and cleaner in my eyes than the other.

And you, madam, who betray your husband as you list, but at whom society winks, because he still permits you the shelter of his roof, you are rarely described by any harsher term than galante, or tant soit peu coquette, while for the poor betrayed creature who sins once, and bitterly repents ever after, there is but one word, and that an ugly one.

Extremes meet, the highest and lowest classes touch, and are welded together in their immorality; only the one sins gracefully in purple and fine linen, the other in rags, and in a hovel.

In the month that I have been in town I have kept my eyes and ears open. I have listened, noted, thought, enquired, and the result has been to make me sceptical of the efficacy of virtue, honest endeavour, courage— of all and everything, in short, but audacity, successful vice, and humbug.

"Dick!" exclaims a fresh voice with some alarm in it; and, glancing up, I see Hetty and Jill looking as if they had just stepped out of Noah's Ark.

"What are you doing here?" I say sharply. "I told you on no account to come near the place. At any moment you may run up against Bell or Cynthia

"And mayn't you?" says Hetty pertly. "I s'pose they'd know their own brother when they saw him, wouldn't they?"

"We have been in Kensington Gardens all the afternoon," says Jill, "and Hetty per

suaded me to come on here; she wanted to see what it was like."

"Just for one turn," says Hetty coaxingly. "I knew we couldn't run up against Bell or Cynthia, for they're gone. I borrowed a Court Guide at a bookstall, and saw their names among the departures."

But the Court Guide was wrong. At the very moment Hetty speaks, there comes slowly past us an open barouche, drawn by magnificent greys, with yellow rosebuds at their heads, and behind them sits a beautiful young woman, dressed in white, whose bored blue eyes waken into astonished life as they fall upon-us.

For a moment we stand speechless, then, "Run," I say to the girls, and they do-for their lives.

I follow more slowly, first giving Bell (unseen by her flunkies) a nod, intended to

re-assure her, and am just meditating on the fallibility of the particular paper quoted by Hetty, when I hear the sound of footsteps pattering very fast after mine, and turning, behold my eldest sister, all out of breath and blown with running, her beautiful gown held up in both hands, her cheeks the colour of August poppies. "Dick!"

"Bell!"

The girls come running back, there are ejaculations, kisses, and, I think, a tear or two; then Bell falls to looking at me reproachfully (but with one eye open to see if anyone is observing us), and dexterously directing our steps to a less frequented part of the Park, asks why we have not been to see her, or even sent our address.

"We are in fine trim for visiting, are we not?" I say, drily, "and your flunkies would

lead you an awful life if they knew you had

relations who lived in Picotee-lane."

"And where is that?" says Bell.

"Nowhere that you ever heard of-out Uxbridge-road way. You needn't hold your

parasol over your face, Bell, there's no one to see you; and even if you did meet anyone you knew, they'd never suspect you of being our sister."

"You are a very rude boy," says Bell, colouring and tossing her little crocus head; "the girls have spoilt you, I see.”

"In my class," I say, with mock dignity, "man is reckoned superior to woman, in yours he is a mere appendage to, and echo of herleave to me my independence, madam, and I will not fail to pay you the respect due to your rank."

"This is unfair," cries Bell, in a rage. "I have not shown myself ashamed of you-I