"Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

The very eyes of me,

And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee."—R. Herrick.

The next morning comes, but no Lilian appears at breakfast. Florence alone of the gentler members of the family puts in an appearance; she is as properly composed, as carefully attired, as delicately tinted, as though the ball of the night before was unknown to her. Lilian, on the contrary,—lazy little thing!—is still lying in her bed, with her arms flung above her graceful head, dreaming happy idle dreams.

Miss Beauchamp, behind the urn, is presiding with unimpeachable elegance of deportment over the cups and saucers; while pouring out the tea, she makes a running commentary on the events of the night before, dropping into each cup, with the sugar,—perhaps with a view to modulating its sweetness,—a sarcastic remark or two about her friends' and acquaintances' manners and dress. Into Guy's cup she lets fall a few words about Lilian, likely, as she vainly hopes, to damage her in his estimation; not that she much fears her as a rival after witnessing Chetwoode's careful avoidance of her on the previous evening; nevertheless, under such circumstances, it is always well to put in a bad word when you can.

She has most of the conversation to herself (Guy and Archibald being gloomy to a painful degree, and Cyril consumed with a desire to know when Cecilia may be reasonably expected to leave her room), until Mr. Musgrave enters, who appears as fresh as a daisy, and "uncommon fit," as he informs them gratuitously, with an air of the utmost bonhommie.

He instantly catches and keeps up the conversational ball, sustaining it proudly, and never letting it touch the ground, until his friends, rising simultaneously, check him cruelly in the very midst of a charming anecdote. Even then he is not daunted, but, following Cyril to the stables (finding him the most genial of the party), takes up there a fresh line, and expresses his opinions as cheerfully and fluently on the subject of "The Horse," as though he had been debarred from speaking for a month and has only just now recovered the use of the organ of speech.

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