‘‘He la la there,” continued Pauline, wishing 
Charlotte were not by, that she might speak 
more plainly. We are not going to have you ” 
(Charlotte moved on) “ following poor Mr. Blun¬ 
dell’s example. Ask how he Is.” 
The words had the ring of a command. They 
were spoken—she had determined that they 
should he spoken. Though terrified ath , r own 
audacity, she waited not for any answer, but 
walked with rapid steps across the street. 
Once on the other side, however, she paused 
and glanced back. Dr. Tyndall stood by Dolly, 
and she was so far content. 
“ What did he say to you?" she Inquired In the 
evening. 
“ KH ? What about ?” said he. 
“ Your cold, of course.” 
“ Oh, my cold Is gone; that brown thing cured 
it. You must give me another after dinner, 
though, 11 they arc nil as good. The doctor was 
telling me about poor Ralph Blundell.” 
So she had hoped, and for this she had man¬ 
oeuvred. Her woman's wit had prompted her to 
hold him In parley uur.ll me other was at liberty, 
and then, with her Parthian shot, she had flown. 
“ i rode up at once to ask after blm,” continued 
Dolly; “ that was how I came to miss you, I sup¬ 
pose. 1 thought Miss Jenny a and I were to have 
had that match we spoke about.” 
“Miss Jerrayn would hive been delighted,” 
sahl Charlotte, overbearing him. “And she 
would have backed Roger for anything you liked 
to name. You have no Idea or the pace we look 
on the way home.” 
He laughed. “Come, It would be rather a 
joke; we’ll have It. Will you put him into train¬ 
ing? And wlieu shall it come off?" 
They were wandering 
the point, and 
Paulino sighed for patience—that weary patience 
which may indeed help to bear, but which is it¬ 
self almost Intolerable to be borne, 
she was appealed to by me disputants. 
Would she not stand up lor Roger, her own 
Roger, the best little Roger in the world? 
Charlotte was In her element, equal to any repar¬ 
tee, conversant with every sporting term. Khe 
was vaunting in extravagant terms the pony’s 
beauty, swiftness and amiability of temper; and 
Dolly, who lived more In the stable than In the 
house, was entering, eon atnore , Into the discus¬ 
sion. 
lie was surprised but not displeased at the 
lukewarmness of Paulino. 
“Hang It! I'm not clever, and that sort of 
thing,” thought the poor boy. “1 can get on 
very well with gins that chaff and talk humbug ; 
but when that won't go down I don’t, know what 
to say. I don't like them any the better for it; 
this one is worth a hundred or all the rest put to¬ 
gether; and ! hope that my Lady Finch—It ever 
there Is one—won’t go In for horses, and that. 
And slang’s odious." 
The last observation was called forth by the 
use of some cant term which Charlotte had 
recently picked up. it was one which, in all 
probability, half the ladles In the county would 
have used, and which, up to the present time, 
would have been passed by, unnoticed, by Dolly. 
But at the moment It assailed Ills ears, two great, 
pure, penetrating eyes were turned upon ids, 
and then and there ids heart fell down dead be¬ 
fore them. 
CHAPTER XX. 
It seemed to Pauline that they fell to talking 
about Blundell quite naturally after this. 
“ I rode over to Blundollsaye, as I told you,” 
said Dolly. “Of course I did not go In—there 
would have been no good In that; but I Just paid 
him the attention,” ho added, with a little air of 
pomposity, becoming the future head of the 
house. 
“Would he hear that, ycu had been there ?” 
“ Ob, of course. Well, 1 don’t know.” 
“Isho so 111,then?” 
“ They think he Is rather In for it." 
“I am awfully sorry for poor Blundell,” broke 
out Dolly, after a pause. There had been another 
controversy at the Hall—ho was lull of his own 
opinion, and burning to confide It to Impartial 
ears. 
“ The people hero aro such a prejudiced lot,” he 
continued; “you wouldn’t believe the way they 
go on about lam. They have got hold ol' the Idea 
that because he plays rather high, and bets a 
little, and—and that sort of thing—that lie is all 
that's bad. The one-half of them cut him. My 
governor won’t have him at the house. Now, I 
don’t go In with It at all. He has lots of money, 
and why shouldn't he do what, he likes with his 
own? Everybody says lie Is as straightforward 
and honorable as a fellow can be; and lie’s the 
best-hearted and kindest one you can find, if he's 
only let alone. They say he has a temper, and 
that; but who cares for a temper? That's not 
what people mind. It’s just because he has got 
a bad name—and my governor’s at the bottom of 
It.” 
“ Is he ?” said she, faintly. 
“Oh, by Jove! yes. You ought to have heard 
how he went on just now, when he was told 
where I had been. Of course he wasn’t going to 
say anything to me,” said the young man, with 
Immense dignity; “it was rny mother who told 
me afterwards. Of course he would never Inter¬ 
fere with what I choose to do.” continued Dolly, 
secretly cherishing the remembrance of that 
amende 7i onombte which had been made after 
the llrst battle; “of course he knows better than 
that. But i.e would as soon think of riding into 
the river as going over hi mself. My mother quite 
goes In with me.” 
“ Does she?” cried Paulino. 
“Shethinks It’s a shame—just as 1 do. My 
mother hates to hear people run down for noth¬ 
ing; and when I tell her what hard lines It Is for 
Blundell, she quite understands.” 
As Indeed she did, for no one was more son-rld- 
den than was Lady Pinch. Her daughters had 
roamed almost immediately upon tlielr emanci¬ 
pation from the school-room; and Dolly was her 
youngest, her spoilt darling, her Benjamin. To 
him she fondly deferred on all occasions; with 
him she took counsel on matters whereon most 
wives dutifully seek advice from their lords. He 
dictated to her, his principal subject, with perfect 
ease and engaglug frankness; she admired, ap¬ 
plauded and echoed the words. 
Pauline, with a great burst of gratitude for the 
womanly tenderness, and more, for the womanly 
powers or discernment which she fancied had 
been revealed, turned to her companion. 
“ l honor your mother,” she said. 
“Oh, well, she Is awfully good,” replied he, 
rather astonished. “By the way, she wants to 
know when you are coming over to see her. You 
were to look at some flowers, or something, 
weren’t you?” 
“Yes, certainly. Wc will arrange with my 
aunt before you go. But what I meant, was, 
about about what you were saying Just now. 
It is such a cruel thing to take up false reports, 
especially when they are, as they nearly always 
are, Ill-natured and-” 
“Oh, you mean about Blundell,” said Dolly 
shrewdly. “ Yes, that’s what 1 say. It’s all for 
nothing. Well, 1 won’t exactly say for nothing, 
lie was an awfully wild fellow, as a young fellow; 
but fellows change, you know. People hark back 
to what he was years ago, and bring It all up 
against him now." 
“ But he may have changed since then.” 
“ That’s what I say. of course he may.” 
“ Da you think,” said Pauline, “ he has ?” 
“ Well, 1 don't know. I daresay. I don’t know 
much about him. You see, when he left—that’s 
about two years ago—I was at Oxford; and so, of 
course, I wasn’t much down here, for wo were 
always off somewhere In the summer, and at 
Christmas I had a lot or places to go to. My 
mother used to make a iuss to have mo at home, 
so I always came down for some part of the time, 
and we used to meet them -t.lmre were two of 
them then, you know—there was a brother who 
was drowned afterwards. They were always out 
with the hounds, and that was pretty much all 
we ever saw or them. They were always civil, 
aurf it’s disagreeable not to bo on good terms 
with your neighbors. By the way, how conveni¬ 
ently you arc placed hero for people dropping In. 
You tnush'l be surprised,” with a little nervous, 
exploring laugh, “to see me sometimes, I am 
Often passing.” 
“ We Shall always be glad,” replied Pauline, 
conventionally. “ My aunt Is rather fond of hav¬ 
ing people dropping In." 
“ She won’t turn me away, then ? Please ask 
her not, for I'm coming soon, l shall ride over to 
Blundulksaye every day tills week.” 
No one could have been kinder than Pauline 
was to Dolly, alter this. 
She thought him the nicest, the brightest, the 
handsomest of boys. She smiled upon him, 
chatted with him, humored him in a thousand 
unconsciously attractive ways. 
She reminded him of-Ids promise. Would he 
be sure to full ill it ? Would he come in to amuse 
them when he passed that way? 
They were often very dull, very sfupid. They 
wanted waking up. People ought to see more of 
each othei, to hear more about each other, to—to 
avoid being wrapt up In their own Interests. 
The words were words of wisdom, but they 
were curiously at variance with the look of the 
girl who spoke them. The restless eye, the 
agitated air struck Dolly, and, alas! he misinter¬ 
preted their meaning. 
Come? Of course he would come. Was he 
likely to forget? He would come the very next 
day. 
Miss La Sarte mot him In the porch. “And 
how Is Mr. Blundell ?” 
He had forgotten to Inquire. lie had meant to 
go up that very afternoon. By Jove, lie had! 
and he had forgotten. “ You see," he explained 
apologetically, “ when you asked mo here it ail 
went out of my head.” 
Here was a blow. That visit on which she. had 
been counting suddenly changed Into a penance, 
her envoy into au ordinary mortal. Worse than 
all, It was her request, her renewed Invitation, 
that with widen she had sought to strengthen 
her bold upon him, which had wrought the 
mischief. 
Perforce she had to entertain her guest, had to 
listen to his prattle, rorce herself to Had topics, 
and make the weary memento pass. 
She had brought it upon herself; she would not 
complain—In faot, she could not. 
If one of Pauline’s emissaries turned out faith¬ 
less, others served her better. 
At the lodge, d illy inquiries were made when 
the doctor passed through, and the answers were 
reported word Tor word. They were simple, 
and invariably the same. “ No change.” On tile 
seventh day she herself contrived to meet the 
carriage in me avenue. 
“A few grapes for Mrs. Tyndall, and my aunt 
hopes she is better. They are very poor ones, but 
the best ones we have.” 
“Thank you—thank you; very kind, I’m sure. 
Mrs. Tyndall Is getting on well, and no fresn 
attack. I wish f could say as much for the pa¬ 
tient i have just left.” 
“ Mr. Blundell ? How Is he ?” 
“It Is lire nr death to-day, Miss La Sarte. 1 
shall tell you to-morrow how he Is, or there will 
be notklug more to tell. Good morning. 
She crept slowly home. 
“ Pauline, my love, I really cannot allow you to 
walk back and forward In that damp avenue a 
whole afternoon. I was watching you from my 
room, and wondering If you would over come In. 
I thought of sending to you. Wetherell could 
have taken the grapes, or you could have left 
them at the lodge. Did you meet the carriage ?” 
She had met the carriage. 
“And he seemed pleased? And how is Mrs. 
Tyndall ?” 
“ He Beemed very much pleased, and Mrs. Tyn¬ 
dall Is better.” 
“But you must not do It again, ray love. In 
this weather there Is nothing worse for one than 
moping up and down In a damp, woody place like 
that. You look quite white. You have got a chill 
already.” 
No, no—she had no chill; she was well—quite 
well. 
“ Then do keep more to the open ground in 
future,” persisted her aunt. “And now there are 
one or two little things that I want you to do for 
me. Quite little matters; they won’t lake you 
many minutes. There la this head-dress—It Is 
frightful, positively frightful / Ju.-d, look at that 
feather! Imagine It sticking out above my ear 
like that! And Wetherell can’t, see it. She has 
unpicked It twice already, and each time It. Is 
made up worse than before. A single touch 
would put It to rights. Any oqe with a grain of 
taste could do it. 1 could, myself, only i want to 
lie down and take a little rest tilts afternoon, that 
I may be fresh for the evening. You don’t care 
for needlework. I know, but this only needs taste, 
and your taste, Pauline, is always good. That Is 
why 1 have come to you. As to the work, It will 
be nothing, as you see. Just to unpick this ruffle 
—It is far too full—anfl lay It on flat; and a touch 
Is wanted at the side. There Is something wrong, 
something heavy-looking about It altogether. 1 
can’t wear a mountain on my head, can I? It 
would look ridiculous above my little face. 
“ Then, these notes. That one Is an Invitation: 
that’s easy; we’ll go. But this Is rather tiresome, 
because It is about a servant who left me some¬ 
time ago, and 1 don’t Know what character to give 
her. She did not suit, me, but tben she was excel¬ 
lent In her way. I should be sorry if she did not 
g«t the place; l>ut I don’t think she ought to have 
applied to me, so long afterwards. 
“Just let them know that, dear Pauline, and 
make up the best sort of a character you can. 
Quite honest, you know, and sober ; and be sure 
you say she had a kitchen-maid. 
“Then this wool; I want ll matched at Hol- 
bronners’. Dear me! where Is the wool ? It was 
In my hand two minutes ago, and I have been no¬ 
where bul In the drawing-room and conservatory! 
Just flnd It, love, and say l will have two skeins 
more, or whatever you tlduk is wanted tollnlsh 
my cushion. You know the cushion? It Is in 
the work-basket, If you would like to take a peep 
at It.—[To be continued. 
THE CARE OF THE HANDS. 
A tithe or the chronic misfortune that befalsthe 
hands and feet Is directly traceable to neglect on 
the part of their owners. The hand or less em¬ 
ployment would not long retain its daintier sense 
If the duties of the toilet were relaxed. Few, 
even In the most sumptuous circumstances, pos¬ 
sess bands that are the admiration of artists; but 
the effect at a llttte intelligent care, even on the 
most, unpromising digits, is productive of results 
as gratifying as unexpected. Many shrink from 
doing much that Is needful in this connection, be¬ 
cause it has the appearance or a too great regard 
for effeminate trifles, which is dearly an affecta¬ 
tion. 
In France, men and women submit themselves 
to the practices of those who make the care or 
the hands and feet a calling; and surely none will 
say the French are not a brave and cultured na¬ 
tion. One who should quote Lady Montaguk’s say¬ 
ing regarding her foot, whilst showing a pair of be- 
grlinmcd hands, would be considered a very nasty 
person, whose most titling sphere would be among 
those ardent sons or Italy, who grace Broadway 
when that pleasant thoroughfare Is a mixture or 
chocolate-colored slush and howling discontent. 
One who can always show' nails Dinged with 
dirt, would receive no countenance from anyone 
because ho contended t hat the Persians tinted 
theirs; and exc isslvety long nails, although much 
In raver among our M ongullun citizens are scarce¬ 
ly baautltul or desUv.Ule. They are not even good 
to scratcu wiiii, which could be their only reason 
for existing from one point or view. 
It IS not only necessary that me lingers Bhould 
pe well formed. bat me skin should be soft, white, 
and lino-grained. It Is so exceptional to ilnd this 
the ease, however, that it is worth while to con¬ 
sider Uow it may be acquired. In the first place, 
then, the extremes oi heat and cold should be 
guardedagnlust, and the use of tepid water for 
lavatory purposes become as fixed as the laws of 
the Medes and Persians. Jt may be said to be a 
mistake to use water to excess In any case, as 
people are never sufllclontly careful to dry the 
hands properly, an l this neglect, loads to a train 
or minor evils wore easily' fastened on one than 
shaken off. 
A few drops of tincture of benzol no mingled 
with the water in the basin creates a milky fluid, 
that is emollient and bleaching in Its action ; 
while those who are annoyed by roughness or 
chap, can resort to the use of Cold cream with the 
most pleasing remit. The more thorough-going, 
who do not regard trouble as it stands In the way 
of a successful resul , cm modify the appearance 
or the most objectionable ban is, by tlio use of 
cosmetic gloves. Paris p.nuuic-rs sell these 
gloves ; hut us their preparation Is no secret, all 
may share their softening and whitening Influ¬ 
ence, by spreading on the Inside of a pair of old 
gloves (several sizes too large), a composition 
made up of the yelks of two eggs, two tablespoon- 
fulsoll sweet almonds, one ounce rose water, and 
!*' drachm tincture benzoine. These gloves are 
to be worn during the night, and the hands laved 
in tepid water, on rising. I sincerely trust that 
a too great, zeal to accomplish a given result will 
notleadtoan lmmltatlonof the practices of the 
grand ladles during the early part of Lotus XIV’s 
reign, who went weeks without washing their 
hands; or to those who, during the life of Hknkt 
III., thought. It. a pretty fashion to wear gloves as 
parti-colored as Jacob's coat which were highly 
perfumed, and never left the hands night or day. 
The only valid excuse for wearing gloves too 
tight, Is when the veins of the hand have a ten¬ 
dency to swell—a real blemish—which may be 
abated by this treatment, and wearing the cloth¬ 
ing loose about the arms; and the avoidance of 
tight wristbands. 
It is common to see some peoplejrnopplng the 
palm of one hand with a handkerchief clutched 
tightly In the other, others, on a lower social 
plane, accomplish a like effect by furtively sliding 
the hand up and down that part of the garments 
that offers t he cleanest and widest expanse. You 
know at once that they have sweaty hands, and 
nothing would make them happier than to be well 
rid of the disease, for such it Is. It lsnotunfre- 
qucntly an hereditary memento, and not always 
to he completely subdued. Astringent washes are 
harmfnl; the only safe local pallatlvo being vo 
dust the palms frequently and plentifully with 
rice-powder, while the general system should be 
braced by ionics, and exercise. Baths that have 
a slightly tonic and Irritating efleet, such as surf- 
bathing, are very effective In this regard. 
Finally, we come to the end or the subject as 
well as to the end of the fingers,—and unless some 
nervous person has eaten them off, find the nails. 
We should find one of the chief beauties of the 
hand, bul It Is one of the many Instances in 
which theory differs from practice. It Is hard to 
say who first, conceived the Idea of making a 
“ free lunch” of the nails; but many have tasted 
them and apparently found t hem good. 
The nails should be a beautiful feature, and can 
easily be made so. Their beauty consists in the 
roseate hue, due to their semi-transparency which 
reflects the healthy hue or theskln beneath them; 
their Shape, and the contrasts of delicate shades 
of color. Of late, the shops are offering for sale a 
litfle box of Implements Which, If Intelligently 
used, become potent agents for transforming the 
tip of un unlovely digit Into an object Of “ bigotry 
and virtue,” as Mrs. Caudle would say. 
The Ivory nail cleaner has blunted edges which 
are effective for removing dirt, without, at the 
same lirno removing the under surface of the nall» 
whose fine polish, If not destroyed, prevents the 
dust particles from finding a permanent lodge¬ 
ment ; moreover, scraping the nail coarsens the 
grain which causes a delect. Never permit a mis¬ 
guided zeal to gouge Into the quick, as It Is not 
only painful, but unsightly. When from 111 health 
or othercau.se the natural color of the nail dis¬ 
appears It maybe supplied by a mere pinch of 
red powder that will be found In the lit lie box, and 
when dusted on the null, and the surface rub¬ 
bed briskly with a piece CU chamolso skin, there 
will be developed a hue and luster that is most 
pleasing, and reasonably permanent. 
The nails should be trimmed regularly and care¬ 
fully. The shape Is a matter of choice, but the 
length should be gauged so as to leave about one- 
Slxteenui of an inch of the white visible. A very 
effective cure for brittle nails, in addition to care¬ 
ful trimming, Is tolnsert Under the edges, nightly, 
a small quantity of mutton tallow, which will 
yield readily to soap and tepid water, tn the 
morning. Rag-halls cannot be cured by an applica¬ 
tion of t he teeth, hut will succumb to careiul clip¬ 
ping with scissors, and a bit of court plaster to 
cement the wound until naturally healed. 
Crooked or misshapen fingers are a source of 
annoyance, one’s first finger, for Instance, takes 
a mistaken Idea of the line of beauty, which In 
Its case is not a curve. In fact, most any unpre¬ 
judiced observer may look at Ids or her hand and 
easily point out directions in which the shape 
could be Improved. Again the French come to 
our aid. A clever doctor concluded he could lm 
prove on the shape of most hands, and straight¬ 
way invented molds which, placed on the fingers 
in time, and with reasonable regularity, will lick 
t hem into proportions approved by the canons of 
art—and one’s own vanity. 
It may be gathered, then, from the foregoing 
that mantculiure, although not so extensive, is, in 
many respects as important as turnip culture ; 
and that with a determination to be a reformer, 
the human hand may be as greatly improved as 
the potato, which we are told, when hrst discov¬ 
ered was a very forbidding and unwholesome 
tuber. But selection and culture has made it the 
comfort of two continents, and there Is no reason 
why decent care and attention to simple duties 
may not improve all our hands so that in time It 
will be a pleasure as w r ell as a civil Ity to “ shake.’- 
x. y. x. 
®|f fittrarg <K»lorlft. 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
First Love lies!. By G-aii. 1Ia.mii.Ton. (pp. 
1105. Price $1.50.) Boston : Estes & Lauriut. 
Omt impulse Is to pronounce this, Miss Dodge’s 
maiden effort la the line ol novel writing, a dis¬ 
mal failure, but as we do not. hold such sweeping 
assertions In high esteem, we’ll content ourselves 
with saying that we fully appreciate the neoes- 
