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her youth, her morning beauty, her keen love of living, and she would enjoy it to the very last moment. Nevertheless, as they threaded the ball-room in airy circles, still the observed of all, and outwardly radiant and triumphant, Lizzie was making up her mind to “clear the course,” as she expressed the matter to herself, at the very earliest opportunity.

The wide hall’s doors stood open to the still summer night, and by a common impulse they wandered out into the garden, and sat down to rest on a rustic seat, conveniently sheltered and arranged for the solitude à deux which the young ladies of the household so thoroughly understood. It was all very still and calm and dewy. Though daylight had not come, the night was already departing, sinking into hollows and valleys, and the bush-birds began to speed the parting guest with mellow calls and cadences. The tiny bush-wren ran up and down his sweet minor scale, and the parson-bird tried half a bar of delicious melody, and then broke off into a loud discordant whistle that would have disgraced a schoolboy’s ear for music. The dewy air was cold and exhilarating after the glare of the ball-room, and Lizzie drew her fur cloak round her shoulders, and remained silent for some moments. Odours of orange blossom and heliotrope waited round