On the 20th.
"I will let you know finally in good time," said I.
As I accompanied them downstairs, I heard a door at the end of the passage open, and turning I saw Carlotta's pretty head thrust past the jamb, and her eyes fixed on the visitors.

I motioned her back, sharply, and my aunt and Dora made an unsuspecting exit.

The noise of their departing chariot wheels was music to my ears.
Carlotta came rushing out of her sitting-room followed by Miss Griggs, protesting.
"Who those fine ladies ?" she cried, with her hands on my sleeve.
"Who _are_ those ladies ?" I corrected.
"Who _are_ those ladies ?" Carlotta repeated, like a demure parrot.
"They are friends of mine." Then came the eternal question.
"Is she married, the young one ?" "Miss Griggs," said I, "kindly instil into Carlotta's mind the fact that no young English woman ever thinks about marriage until she is actually engaged, and then her thoughts do not go beyond the wedding." "But is she ?" persisted Carlotta.
"I wish to heaven she was," I laughed, imprudently, "for then she would not come and spoil my morning's work." "Oh, she wants to marry you," said Carlotta.
"Miss Griggs," said I, "Carlotta will resume her studies," and I went upstairs, sighing for the beautiful tower with a lift outside.
July 14th.
Pasquale came in about nine o'clock, and found us playing cards.
He is a bird of passage with no fixed abode.

Some weeks ago he gave up his chambers in St.James's, and went to live with an actor friend, a grass-widower, who has a house in the St.John's Wood Road close by.

Why Pasquale, who loves the palpitating centres of existence, should choose to rusticate in this semi-arcadian district, I cannot imagine.