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there was a sense of wrongdoing—in the air, and in the sunny outburst of nature’s happiness that Southern spring morning. After a time she began to piece together, with the unconscious workmanship by which we join words and thoughts and scenes together, till they form a connected whole, all the little sayings and meanings of the Green Street circle which had fallen unheeded on her ears hitherto. It was not to be supposed, in such a green, idyllic spot as this, that gossip would forget to trade her wares; and, indeed, poor Lizzie’s name had been frequently canvassed of late amongst her friends. Everybody knew, of course, what a good, open-hearted child of nature she was in reality; still, she was going a little too far this time. She ought to be advised by somebody; or, at least, Mr. Campbell should be spoken to; or, if not Mr. Campbell, then why did not her husband interfere? She would get herself into hot water, and there was danger ahead. There is no smoke without fire; and so on, and so on. This airy conflict raged over Lizzie’s head, however, quite unperceived by her, and she continued her joyous and meteor-like career over the ballrooms and tennis lawns of town and country as gaily and triumphantly as any woman with a perfect profile, a new dress for every day in