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Learning NServiceBus

Build reliable and scalable distributed software systems

using the industry leading .NET Enterprise Service Bus

David Boike

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
Learning NServiceBus

Copyright © 2013 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written
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in critical articles or reviews.

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of the information presented. However, the information contained in this book
is sold without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author nor Packt
Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages
caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book.

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However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: August 2013

Production Reference: 1200813

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
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Birmingham B3 2PB, UK.

ISBN 978-1-78216-634-4

www.packtpub.com

Cover Image by Suresh Mogre (suresh.mogre.99@gmail.com)

 Credits

Author Project Coordinator

David Boike Suraj Bist

Reviewers Proofreader
Hadi Eskandari Maria Gould
Johannes Gustafsson
Andreas Öhlund Indexer
Priya Subramani

Acquisition Editor
Andrew Duckworth Production Coordinator
Zahid Shaikh

Commissioning Editor
Shreerang Deshpande Cover Work
Zahid Shaikh

Technical Editors
Anita Nayak
Vrinda Nitesh Bhosale
 About the Author

David Boike is a Principal Consultant with ILM Professional Services with more
than a decade of development experience in ASP.NET and related technologies and
has been an avid proponent of NServiceBus since Version 2.0 in 2010. He is also
an alumnus of Udi Dahan's Advanced Distributed Systems Design course. David
resides in the Twin Cities with his wife and daughter. He can be found on Twitter
at @DavidBoike and on his blog at http://www.make-awesome.com.

First and foremost, I would like to thank my wife for being patient
with me while I was writing this book. Secondly, I would like to thank
everyone at NServiceBus and all of the NServiceBus Champions for
their willingness to answer questions and offer feedback throughout
the writing process. Lastly, I would like to thank Sally Stewart, who
gave me a little push at exactly the right moment.
 About the Reviewers

Hadi Eskandari was born in Tehran, Iran and has always been an early adapter
of new technologies and tools on Microsoft Platform. Currently he lives in Sydney,
Australia, and works as a Senior Software Developer for Readify. He likes to get
involved in OSS and has contributed to open source projects such as NHibernate,
Rhino Licensing, and NServiceBus.

I want to thank my family for their support and belief in me.

In particular, I want to thank my wife for supporting me through
the hard times: I couldn't have made it without your love, support,
and inspiration!

Johannes Gustafsson is 34 years old and lives with his family in Skövde,
a midsized town in the middle of Sweden.

He has 15 years of experience as a professional developer and has been working with
NServiceBus since version 1.8. He is also an NServiceBus Champ and committer.

He is currently employed as Lead Developer at InExchange Factorum AB.

Andreas Öhlund, the technical director for NServiceBus, is an enterprise

development expert with thorough experience of messaging-based solutions.
Andreas is a passionate developer, speaker, and trainer. You can read his blog over
at http://andreasohlund.net or follow him on Twitter using @andreasohlund.
 www.PacktPub.com
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 Table of Contents
Preface 1
Chapter 1: Getting on the IBus 5
Why NServiceBus? 5
Getting the code 7
NServiceBus NuGet packages 8
Creating a message assembly 9
Creating a service endpoint 10
Creating a message handler 11
Sending a message from an MVC application 13
Creating the MVC website 13
Running the solution 17
Summary 20
Chapter 2: Messaging Patterns 21
Commands versus events 21
Eventual consistency 22
Achieving consistency with messaging 23
Events 24
Publishing an event 25
Subscribing to an event 27
Message routing 30
Summary 32
Chapter 3: Preparing for Failure 33
Fault tolerance and transactional processing 34
Error queues and replay 35
Automatic retries 36
Replaying errors 37
Second level retries 38
RetryDemo 40
Table of Contents

Express messaging 40
Messages that expire 41
Auditing messages 42
Web service integration and idempotence 43
Summary 46
Chapter 4: Self-Hosting 47
Web app and custom hosting 47
Assembly scanning 48
Choosing an endpoint name 49
Dependency injection 49
Message transport 50
Why use a different transport? 50
ActiveMQ 51
RabbitMQ 51
SQL server 52
Windows Azure 52
Purging the queue on startup 52
Bus options 53
Startup 53
Send-only endpoints 54
Summary 55
Chapter 5: Advanced Messaging 57
Modifying the NServiceBus host 57
General extension points 57
Dependency injection 59
Additional bus settings 61
Message serializer 61
Transaction settings 62
The unobtrusive mode 62
Message versioning 64
Polymorphic dispatch 64
Events as interfaces 66
Specifying the handler order 67
Message actions 68
Stopping a message 68
Deferring a message 69
Forwarding messages 69
Message headers 69
Unit of work 70
Message mutators 71
Property encryption 72
Transporting large payloads 73
[ ii ]
 Table of Contents

Exposing web services 76

Summary 77
Chapter 6: Sagas 79
Long-running processes 79
Defining a saga 80
Finding saga data 82
Ending a saga 83
Dealing with time 85
Design guidelines 87
Business logic only 87
Saga lifetime 88
Saga patterns 89
Retraining the business 90
Unit testing 90
Scheduling 93
Summary 94
Chapter 7: Administration 95
Service installation 95
Profiles 97
Environmental profiles 97
Feature profiles 98
Customizing profiles 99
Logging profiles 101
Customizing the log level 101
Managing configurations 102
Monitoring 103
Scalability 104
Scaling up 104
Scaling out 105
Decommissioning a worker 107
Multiple sites 108
Managing RavenDB 109
Virtualization 110
Message storage 110
Summary 111
Chapter 8: Where to Go from Here? 113
What we've learned 113
What next? 115
Index 117

[ iii ]
 Preface
Today's distributed applications need to be built on the principles of asynchronous
messaging in order to be successful. While you could try to build this infrastructure
yourself, to do so would be folly. NServiceBus is a framework that can give you
a proven asynchronous messaging API and so much more.

This book will be your guide to NServiceBus. From sending a simple message,
to publishing events, to implementing complex long-running processes and
deploying a system to production, you'll learn everything you need to know
to start building complex distributed systems in no time.

What this book covers

Chapter 1, Getting on the IBus, introduces NServiceBus and get us started using
the framework. We will learn how to get the framework and send our first message
with it.

Chapter 2, Messaging Patterns, discusses asynchronous messaging theory, and

introduces the concept of Publish/Subscribe, showing how we can achieve
decoupling by publishing events.

Chapter 3, Preparing for Failure, introduces concepts like automatic retry that give us
the ability to build a system that can deal with failure.

Chapter 4, Self-Hosting, gives us a glimpse into the many ways NServiceBus can be
configured by analyzing the options for self-hosting the Bus.

Chapter 5, Advanced Messaging, delves into the advanced topics that will allow us
to take full control over the NServiceBus message pipeline.

Chapter 6, Sagas, introduces the long-running business process known as a saga and
explains how they are built and tested.
Preface

Chapter 7, Administration, shows how to build, deploy, monitor, and scale a successful
NServiceBus system in a production environment.

Chapter 8, Where to Go from Here?, summarizes what we have learned in the book and
lists additional sources of information.

What you need for this book

This book covers NServiceBus 4.0, and as such, the requirements for this book are
the same as for the software it covers:

• Microsoft .NET Framework 4.0

• Visual Studio 2010 or later

Additionally, the code samples use ASP.NET MVC 3 for web projects.

Who this book is for

This book is for senior developers and software architects who need to build
distributed software systems and software for the enterprise. It is assumed that
you are familiar with the .NET Framework 4.0. A passing understanding of
the fundamentals of ASP.NET MVC will also be helpful when discussing
web-based projects.

Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of styles of text that distinguish between
different kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles, and
an explanation of their meaning.

Code words in text, database table names, folder names, filenames, file extensions,
pathnames, dummy URLs, user input, and Twitter handles are shown as follows:
"In the interface definition, implement the IEvent interface."

A block of code is set as follows:

public interface IUserCreatedEvent : IEvent
{
Guid UserId { get; set; }
string EmailAddress { get; set; }
string Name { get; set; }
}

[2]
 Preface

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block,

the relevant lines or items are set in bold:
public interface IUserCreatedEvent : IEvent
{
Guid UserId { get; set; }
string EmailAddress { get; set; }
string Name { get; set; }
}

Any command-line input or output is written as follows:

PM> Install-Package NServiceBus.Host -ProjectName UserService

New terms and important words are shown in bold. Words that you see on the
screen, in menus or dialog boxes for example, appear in the text like this: "clicking
the Next button moves you to the next screen".

Warnings or important notes appear in a box like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

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Feedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about
this book—what you liked or may have disliked. Reader feedback is important for us
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To send us general feedback, simply send an email to feedback@packtpub.com, and

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Customer support
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to help you to get the most from your purchase.

[3]
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
compose myself.”

Amethyst, with the despised list in her hand, went away

into her own bedroom, and sat down by the window to think
on her own account. She had been taken from her home at
seven years old, and since then, her intercourse with it had
been confined to short visits on either side, and even these
had ceased of late years, as Lord and Lady Haredale had
lived much on the continent. She knew that her father’s
affairs were involved, that the heir, her half-brother, was in
debt, and, as Miss Haredale put it, “not satisfactory, poor
dear boy.” She knew also that her half-sister, Lady Clyste,
lived abroad apart from her husband, and that her own
younger sisters had travelled about and lived very unsettled
lives. But what all these things implied, she did not know at
all. She thought her little-known mother the loveliest and
sweetest person she had ever seen, and when she heard
that her family were going to settle down for a time at a
smaller place belonging to them not far from London, she
had been full of hope of closer intercourse.

And now, the thought of going into society with her mother
was full of dazzle and charm. She had had a very happy life.
Her home with her aunt had been made bright by many
little pleasures, and varied by all the interests of her
education. The Saint Etheldred’s of which she had spoken
was a girls’ school in the neighbourhood of Silverfold,
founded and carried on with a view to uniting the best
modern education with strict religious principles. Amethyst
and a few other girls attended as day scholars. She had
been thoroughly well taught; her nature was susceptible to
the best influences of the place, and she was popular and
influential with her school-fellows.

By far the prettiest girl in the school, among the cleverest,

and the only one with any prestige of rank, she had grown
up with a considerable amount of self-confidence. She did
not feel herself ignorant of life, nor was she of the exclusive
high-toned life in which she had been reared. She had
helped to manage younger girls, she had been a very
important person at Saint Etheldred’s, and she honestly
believed herself capable of taking her aunt’s burden on her
shoulders and of carrying it successfully. She also thought
herself capable of cheerfully sacrificing the gaieties of the
great world for this dear aunt’s sake. She felt quite
convinced that work was a nobler thing than pleasure, and
that a Saint Etheldred’s teacher would be happier than an
idle young lady. She did not give in to her aunt’s
arguments. She was not so young and foolish as auntie
supposed. She felt quite grown-up, surely she looked so.
She turned to the looking-glass to settle the point.

She saw a tall girl, slender and graceful, holding her long
neck and small head with an air of dignity and distinction;
which, nevertheless, harmonised perfectly with the
simplicity and modesty of her expression. “Grown-up,” in
her own sense she might be, but she had the innocent look
of a creature on whom the world’s breath had never blown;
and though there was power in the smooth white brow, and
spiritual capacity in the dark grey eyes, there was not a line
of experience on the delicate face; the full red lips lay in a
peaceful curve, and over the whole face there was a bloom
and softness that had never known the wear and tear of ill-
health, or ill feelings.

“I don’t look like a child,” she said to herself, “and I know so

much more of the world than the girls who are always shut
up in school, and never see a newspaper or read a novel. I
should be fit for a teacher, I might go home for one season
and be presented, if mother likes, and then come back and
help auntie. I should like to know my sisters. It strikes me I
do know very little about them all. Yes, I should like to go
home.”

Amethyst’s eyes filled with tears, as a sudden yearning for

the home circle from which she had been shut out
possessed her. The affections of a child taken out of its
natural place cannot flow in one smooth unbroken stream,
and Amethyst felt that there was a contention within her.
Her heart went out to the unknown home, and though she
went down-stairs again, prepared to urge her scheme of
self-help upon her aunt, it was already with a conscious
sense of self-conquest that she did so.

Miss Haredale stopped the girl’s arguments at once.

“No, my child, my mind is made up, and your parents’ too.

What you propose is perfectly out of the question. But,
remember, you may always come back to me, I will always
make some sort of home for you if you really need it, and
you will try to be a good girl; for—for I don’t like all I hear
of fashionable life. There will be great deal of gaiety and
frivolity.”

“But mother will tell me what is right,” said Amethyst. “I can

always ask her, and I’ll always do what she thinks best.”

“Oh, my dear child,” cried Miss Haredale, with agitation

inexplicable to Amethyst, “no earthly guide is always
enough.”

“Of course I know that,” said Amethyst, simply, and with

surprise. “But I can’t go away from that other guidance, you
know, auntie. That is the same everywhere. If one really
wishes to know what is right, there is never any doubt
about it. There is always a way out of a puzzle at school;
and of course things there are sometimes puzzling.”
The words were spoken in the most matter-of-course way,
as by one who believed herself to have found by experience
the truth of what she had been constantly taught, and who
did not suppose that any one else could doubt it.

Miss Haredale said nothing; but whether rightly or wrongly,

she never gave Amethyst a clearer warning, or more
definite advice than this.
 Chapter Three.
Neighbours.

Market Cleverley was a dull little town, within easy reach of

London, but on another line from Silverfold. The great
feature of its respectable old-fashioned street was the high-
built wall and handsome iron gates of Cleverley Hall, a
substantial house of dark brick of the style prevalent in the
earlier part of the last century. Nearly opposite the Hall was
the Rectory, smaller in size, but similar in age and colour;
and, beyond the large, long, square-towered church which
stood at the end of the street, were the fields and gardens
of Ashfield Mount, a large white modern villa built on a
rising ground, which commanded a view of flat, fertile
country, and of long, white roads, stretching away between
neatly trimmed hedges.

The exchange of the dull but innocuous Admiral and Mrs

Parry, at Cleverley Hall, for a large family of undoubted rank
and position, who were supposed to be equally handsome
and ill-behaved, and to belong to the extreme of fashion,
could not fail to be exciting to the mother of two growing
girls, and of a grown-up son, whose good looks and fair
fortune were not to be despised. Mrs Leigh rented Ashfield
from the guardian uncle of the owner, Miss Carisbrooke, a
girl still under age, and had lived there for many years. Her
son’s place, Toppings, in a northern county, had been let
during his long minority.

She was a handsome woman, still in early middle life, and,

having been long the leader of Cleverley society, naturally
regarded so formidable a rival as Lady Haredale with
anxiety. She was indeed so full of the subject, that when
Miss Margaret Riddell, the rector’s maiden sister, came to
see her for the first time, after a three months’ absence
abroad, she had no thoughts to spare for the climate of
Rome, or the beauty of Florence; but began at once on the
subject of the sudden arrival of the owners of Cleverley
Hall, and the change from the dear good Parrys.

“Have you called there yet?” said Miss Riddell, as the two
ladies sat at tea in the pleasant, well-furnished drawing-
room at Ashfield Mount.

“Yes,” said Mrs Leigh, “but Lady Haredale was out. Three
great tall girls came late into church on Sunday, handsome
creatures, but not good style. Gertie and Kate are very
eager about them, of course, but I shall be cautious how I
let them get intimate.”

“But what is the state of the case about the Haredales?

What has become of the first family?”

“Well, my cousin in London, Mrs Saint George, tells me that

Lord Haredale is supposed to be very hard up; ill luck on
the turf I fancy, and the eldest son’s debts. He, the son, is a
shocking character, drinks I believe. But my cousin thinks
his father very hard on him. Then Lady Clyste, the first
wife’s daughter, does not show at all—lives on the
continent. Sir Edward is in India; but everybody knows that
there was a great scandal, and a separation.”

“Well, they both seem pretty well out of the way, at any
rate.”

“Yes, but it is this Lady Haredale herself. There’s nothing

definite against her, Louisa says, but she belongs to the
very fastest set! And these children have knocked about on
the continent; and at Twickenham, where they have had a
villa, they were always to be seen with the men Lady
Haredale had about, and, in fact, chaperoning their mother.
—A nice training for girls!”

“Poor little things?” said Miss Riddell. “Perhaps this is their

first chance in life.”

“I dislike that style of thing so very much,” said Mrs Leigh;

“with my girls I cannot be too particular.”

Miss Riddell knew very well that this sentence might have
been read, “with my boy I cannot be too particular;” and
she was herself concerned at the report of the new-comers,
though, being a woman of a kindly heart, she thought with
interest and pity of the handsome girls, with their bad style
—the result evidently of a bad training.

“I must go and call—of course,” she said.

“Oh, of course—and I hope you and the Rector will come to

meet them, we must have a dinner-party for them as soon
as possible. Besides, it is time that Lucian came forward a
little, if he is so shy when he goes back to Lancashire, he
will make no way at all in his own county.”

Miss Riddell’s reply was forestalled by the entrance of the

subject of this remark, who came up and shook hands with
her cordially, but with something of the stiff politeness of a
well-bred school-boy.

“Ah, you hear what I say, Lucian,” said his mother, “there
are several things in store for you, which I do not mean to
let you shirk in your usual fashion.”

“But I don’t want to shirk, if you are asking the Rector and
Miss Riddell to dinner,” said the young man. “I’m very glad
to see you back again, Miss Riddell; and if I must take in
this formidable Lady Haredale, you’ll sit on the other side—
won’t you?—and help me to talk to her?”

“I fancy from what I hear that you won’t find that difficult,”
said Miss Riddell, “or disagreeable; but, if you like, I will
report on her after my first visit.”

“Ah, thanks—give me the map of the country beforehand.

Syl coming down this Easter?”

“I think so, for a week or two,” said Miss Riddell, as she

took her leave. “Come some day soon, and see my Italian
photographs; you know you are always welcome.”

“I will,” said Lucian; “the mother can’t say I shirk coming to

see you.”

“No, Lucian, I have no fault to find with you. You know I

always take your part. Good-bye for the present.”

Miss Riddell watched him as he walked away down the

garden whistling to his dog—a tall fair youth, handsome as
a young Greek, possessing indeed a kind of ideal beauty,
that seemed almost out of character in the simple good-
hearted boy who loved nothing so well as dogs and horses,
liked to spend all his days in the roughest of shooting-coats,
was too shy to enjoy balls and garden-parties (since he had
never found out that he might have been the most popular
of partners), and except on the simplest topics, in the home
circle, or with his old friend Sylvester Riddell, never seemed
to have anything to say. He was not clever, and cared little
for intellectual interests, but he had managed to get himself
decently through the Schools, and never seemed to have
found it difficult to behave well.

His mother often declared herself disappointed that he did

not make more of himself; but Miss Riddell wondered if
there was much more to make.

She was interested in him, however, for ever since she had
come to live with her widowed brother, the young people of
the neighbourhood had formed one of the great interests of
her life; and it was with every intention of giving a kindly
welcome to the new-comers, that she set out on the next
day to call on Lady Haredale. Within the wrought-iron gates
of Cleverley Hall, a short straight drive led up to the house,
defended by high cypress hedges, cut at intervals into
turrets and pinnacles, troublesome to keep in order, and
sombre and peculiar in effect. Miss Riddell wondered what
the fashionable family would think of them. She was shown
into a long drawing-room, where a tall slim figure rose to
receive her, and three tall children started up from various
parts of the room.

Lady Haredale was girlishly slight and graceful. She seemed

to have given her daughters their delicate outlines and pale
soft colouring, neither dark nor fair; but as Miss Riddell
watched the manner and expression of the four, it seemed
to her that the mother’s was much the simpler, and less
affected; while she looked almost as youthful, and much
more capable of enjoyment than her daughters. She was
dressed in a shabby but becoming velvet gown, which told
no tale of extravagance or of undue fashion.

“You know, Miss Riddell,” she said presently, in a sweet

cheerful voice, “we are supposed to come here to be
economical. This is our retreat. These children are getting
too big to be dragged about on the continent. Aren’t they
great girls? I have had them always with me. Now we ought
to shut them up in the school-room.”

“Have they a governess?” asked Miss Riddell.

“Why—not at present. You see there wasn’t money enough
both for education and frocks—and I’m afraid I chose
frocks,” said Lady Haredale, with a voice and smile that
almost made Miss Riddell feel that frocks were preferable to
education.

“They have some time before them,” she said.

“Poor little penniless things,” said Lady Haredale, with a

light laugh. “They haven’t any time to waste. This creature
—come here, Una—is really fifteen.”

“I hope we shall soon be good friends,” said Miss Riddell,

kindly.

“Oh, thanks, you’re very good, I’m sure,” said Una, with a
cool level stare out of her big eyes and an indifferent drawl
in her voice.

“They want some friends,” said Lady Haredale. “But this is

not my eldest. There’s Amethyst. Her aunt has brought her
up, and kept her always at school. But now we’re going to
have her back. She’s a very pretty child it seems to me.”

“Is she coming to you soon?” asked Miss Riddell.

“After Easter. At her school they don’t like going out in

Lent,” said Lady Haredale, opening her eyes, and speaking
as if keeping Lent was a Japanese custom recently
introduced. “She’s been so well brought up by good Miss
Haredale. But now she is eighteen, and it’s time to take her
out. The fact is, her aunt has had money losses—the last
person among us who deserved them—but none of us ever
have any money! She has been down here, poor woman,
with Lord Haredale, to settle about it all.”

“She feels parting with her niece, no doubt.”

“Oh yes, dreadfully. But of course we shall let Amethyst go
to her constantly. I’m so grateful to her for bringing her up.
I hope the child will rub along with us comfortably. We shall
have a few people staying with us soon; and while we are
down here we must get these children taught something—
they can do nothing but gabble a little French and German.
Amethyst is finished, she has passed one of these new
examinations. I hardly know what they are—but we left all
that to her aunt, of course,” concluded Lady Haredale, with
a slight tone of apology. “And I think she’s too pretty to be a
blue.”

“I hope she will find Cleverley pleasant,” said Miss Riddell as

she rose to take leave.

“I’m sure she will,” said Lady Haredale sweetly and

cordially, as she shook hands with her guest. “Of course we
shall do our best to enjoy ourselves while we are in retreat.
Though I don’t mind confessing to you that I detest the
country.”

“She looks innocent enough,” thought Miss Riddell as she

walked away. “Silly I should say—but a real beauty.”

“That woman’s more frumpish than Aunt Annabel,” said one

of the girls as the door closed behind the visitor.

“Just her style, dear good creature,” said Lady Haredale.

“But they’re the Cheshire Riddells, you know, my dear—
quite people to be civil to.”
 Chapter Four.
The Home Circle.

Lady Haredale was naturally gifted with peculiarly even,

cheerful spirits. She had a great capacity for enjoyment,
though she had troubles enough to break down a better
woman. She had married at seventeen a man much older
than herself, already in embarrassed circumstances. Her
step-children both disliked her, and had given her very good
cause to dislike them.

She had four nearly portionless girls of her own to marry,

and she herself had endless personal anxieties and worries,
springing alike from want of money and from want of
principle. Truly she had often not the wherewithal to pay for
her own and her daughters’ dress. She did not mind being
in debt because it was wrong, but she found it very
disagreeable. She belonged to a circle of ladies who played
cards, and for very high stakes. That led to complications.
She was a beauty and had many admirers, with whom she
liked to maintain sentimental relations, and she was just
really sentimental enough not always to stop at the safe
point. Very uncomfortable trains of circumstances had
arisen from the indulgence of this taste; and, if she had had
no regrets or difficulties of her own, Lord Haredale’s
character and pursuits would have given her plenty. Nor had
she outer interests or resources in herself. She never
realised, she seemed scarcely to have heard of all the
various forms of philanthropy which are furthered by so
many ladies of position. She did not care for politics,
literature, or art. She was probably conscious of being much
more charming than most of the women who occupied
themselves with these interests; but on the whole it was
rather that she did not know anything about them, than
that she set herself against them. As for religion, she was
really hardly conscious of its claims upon her beyond an
occasional attendance at church, and due consideration for
the social rank of a bishop. In such unconsciousness rather
than opposition Lady Haredale was behind and unlike her
age; but the state of mind may still be found, where dense
perceptions and exclusive habits co-exist.

Yet she was always ready for a fresh amusement; she

enjoyed gossip of a piquant and scandalous nature; she
greatly enjoyed admiration, and treading on social white
ice. When none of these excitements were at hand, she
liked realistic novels, and comfortable chairs, and good
things to eat and drink. She also liked her little girls, though
she took very little trouble about them; and, though it
cannot be denied that Satan did find some mischief for her
idle heart and brain, if not for her idle hands to do, he did
not often manage to lower her spirits or ruffle her temper.
She not only did what she liked—what is less common, she
liked what she did.

But her young daughters did not inherit this cheery serenity.
They had no intelligent teaching, no growing enthusiasms to
occupy their minds, and they were inconceivably ignorant
and bornées. They were entirely unprincipled, using the
word in a negative sense, and they had not their mother’s
steady health. They had knocked about, abroad and at
home, with careless servants, and foreign teachers. They
had been to children’s balls, and had been produced in
picturesque costumes at grown-up entertainments; till,
lacking their mother’s spirit, they were apt to look on
cynically, while she devised fresh schemes of amusement.

“Lady Haredale is so fresh!” Una had once remarked, to the

intense amusement of her partner, at one of those
“children’s parties,” which are given that grown-up people
may admire the children, and amuse themselves.

These three children, in the afternoon in Easter week on

which Amethyst was expected, had grouped themselves into
the bow-window of the drawing-room, looking with their
long hair, black legs, and fashionable frocks, like a
contemporary picture in Punch.

“Dismal place this!” said Una, yawning and looking out at

the garden.

“Oh,” said Kattern, as the next girl, Katherine, was usually

called, “my lady will have all the old set here soon.”

They often called their mother “my lady,” after the manner
of their half-brother and sister.

“Yes,” said Victoria, the youngest, in a slow, high-toned

drawl. “It’s quite six weeks since we’ve seen Tony. He’ll be
coming soon, and Frank Chichester, I dare say. Frank’ll give
you a chance, Una.”

“Frank Chichester! I don’t value boys; they have no

conversation. You and Kattern may pull caps for him.”

“Tory’s too rude,” said Kattern. “He never forgave her for
saying, when he asked her to dance, that she must watch
him to see how he moved.”

“I thought that was chic,” said Tory; “some men like it, and
coax you.”

“He’s too young for it,” said the experienced Una; “not my
style at all.”

“Ah, we know your style—dear Tony.”

“Be quiet,” interposed Una, angrily, and with scarlet cheeks;
“what’s my style to such little chits as you?”

“Little chits indeed!” said Tory. “You might be glad to be a

little chit. You’re getting to the awkward age, and you won’t
have a little girl’s privileges much longer. You’d better look
out. And besides, we shall none of us wear as well as my
lady.”

“There’ll be Amethyst,” said Kattern. “If she’s so awfully

pretty, we shall be out of the running.”

“She’s sure to be bread-and-butterish and goody; that

won’t pay,” said Tory. “Now be quiet, I want to finish my
book before she comes.”

“What’s it about?” asked Kattern.

“She married the wrong man, and the hero wants her to run
away with him, but I suppose the husband will die, so it will
all come right!” said Tory, drawing up her black legs into a
comfortable attitude, and burying herself in her book.

On that morning Amethyst had been taken to London by

her aunt; and, by no means so miserable as she thought
she ought to have been, was delivered over to her father’s
care.

Matters had settled themselves fairly pleasantly for Miss

Haredale. Her house was let, and an old friend had asked
her to go abroad with her for the summer, so that she was
not left to solitude—a greater consolation just now to
Amethyst than to herself. The girl felt the parting; but eager
interest in the new old house, longing for her mother and
sisters, and shy pleasure in her father’s notice,
overwhelmed the feeling and pushed it aside for the time.
She was delighted when her father took her to lunch at
Verey’s, and enjoyed the strawberry ice which he gave her.
She tried to adapt her conversation to what she supposed
might be Lord Haredale’s tastes, and asked him if the
hunting near Cleverley was good.

“Fond of riding, eh?” he said. “I haven’t been out for years,

—never was much in my line. But your aunt, she was the
best horse-woman in the county. Fellows used to lay bets on
what ugly places Annabel Haredale would go in for next. But
she was up to the game, and when she was expected to
show off would ride as if she were following a funeral—make
them open all the gates for her, and then go ahead like a
bird and distance everybody.—You’ll do, if you have her
hand at a horse’s mouth, and her seat on the saddle.”

Amethyst found some difficulty in picturing her aunt flying

over the country like a bird, and answered humbly—

“I never rode anything but Dobbin, the Rectory pony, papa;

but he could take a flat ditch, if it wasn’t too wide. I should
like hunting.”

“Well, we’ll see about it next winter. I’ll manage to mount

you, perhaps, somehow.”

“Oh, papa, I don’t want anything that’s any trouble. I like

everything that comes handy.” She smiled gaily as she
spoke, and her sweet light-hearted look struck her father.

“You take after my lady,” he said aloud, and then under his
moustaches, “and, by Jove! you’ll cut her out too.”

Amethyst’s gaiety subsided as they came to the little

country station, and were driving through the lanes to
Cleverley Hall. Her heart beat very fast—it was the intensest
moment her young life had known.
“Shy, eh?” said her father good-naturedly, as they reached
the Hall. “Never mind—we take things easy. Visitors in the
drawing-room, do you say?”—to the servant. “Generally
are, I think. My lady would have made a circle of mermen
and savages if she had been shipwrecked with Robinson
Crusoe.” Amethyst hardly heard; she followed her father
into the long low room, full of misty afternoon sunlight. She
did not heed that several figures rose hurriedly as they
entered; she heard a clear sweet voice say—

“Why here she is! Here’s my big girl!” and, full in the dazzle
of that confusing sunlight, she saw her mothers slender
figure and smiling face.

As the welcoming arms clasped her, and the smiling lips

kissed her, Amethyst felt as if she had never known what
happiness meant before.
 Chapter Five.
Sisters.

The visitors, who were introduced by Lady Haredale as,

“Our neighbours at Ashfield, Mr Leigh, and Mrs Leigh,”
speedily took their leave. Amethyst had hardly seen them;
for the whole evening was dazzling and dreamy to her, full
of emotion and excitement.

It was hours before she could sleep, though a wakeful night

was a new experience to her. But when she woke the next
morning rather late, she was sensible of the light of
common day, and came down fresh and cheerful to find
herself the first at breakfast, and nobody there to receive
her apologies for having overslept herself.

Breakfast was in the “library”—a pleasant room, but with no

books in it to account for its appellation; and Lady Haredale
soon appeared, while the three girls straggled in by
degrees.

“Now, you bad children,” said Lady Haredale gaily, as the

meal concluded, “you know you have all got to make up
your minds that Amethyst will go out with me, and that you
are all still in the school-room.”

“Where is it?” asked Tory, with her lazy drawl.

“There isn’t much to go out for, that I see—down here,” said

Una.

“Oh, you are all spoiled,” said Lady Haredale. “Amethyst

never saw such a set of ignorant creatures. I shall leave her
to tell you what good little girls should be like.”
There was a sweet lightsome tone in Lady Haredale’s voice,
that seemed to Amethyst to indicate the most delightful
relations between herself and her daughters, though the
three girls did not look responsive.

“Have you any pretty frocks, my dear?” said Lady Haredale,

as she rose to go away. “I mean to have some parties, and
there will be people here. If his lordship won’t let us go to
London, we must amuse ourselves here, mustn’t we?
Though I don’t despair of London yet.”

“I don’t know—I’m afraid you wouldn’t think my best dress

very pretty, mamma.”

”‘Mamma’—how pretty the old name is on her tongue!”

Amethyst blushed.

“I’m afraid it’s old-fashioned,” she said, “but the Rectory

girls at Silverfold say ‘mamma.’ Do we call you ‘mother’?”

“Do you know,” said Lady Haredale, ”‘mamma’ is so old-

fashioned that I think it’s quite chic. And very pretty of you;
go on—I like it. And never mind the frocks. Of course it’s
my place to dress you up and show you off—and I will. I’m
glad you’re such a pretty creature.”

She kissed Amethyst lightly as she passed her, and went

away, leaving the girl embarrassed by the outspoken praise.
But Amethyst knew, or thought she knew, all about her own
beauty, and accepted it as one of the facts of life; so she
roused herself in a moment, clapped her hands together,
and sprang at her sisters—seizing Una round the waist.

“Come! come! let us look at each other, let us find each

other out!—How big you all are! Come and tell me what
work you are doing, and what you each go in for; let’s have
a splendid talk together.”

She pulled Una down beside her on the sofa, and looked
smiling into her face. She had not been grown-up so long as
not to be quite ready for companionship with these younger
girls, and girls came natural to her.

Una looked back wistfully into the laughing eyes. She was
as tall as Amethyst, and her still childish dress accentuated
the lanky slenderness of her figure, which seemed weighed
down by the enormous quantities of reddish brown hair that
fell over her shoulders and about her face. Indeed she
looked out of health; all the colour in her face was
concentrated in her full red lips, and her wide-open eyes
were set in very dark circles. She looked, spite of her short
frock and her long hair, older than her real age, and as
unlike a natural healthy school-girl as the most “intense”
and aesthetic taste could desire. Kattern was prettier, and,
as Amethyst expressed it to herself, more comfortable-
looking, but she had a stupid face; and by far the
shrewdest, keenest glances came from Tory’s darker eyes,
which had an elfish malice in them, that caused Amethyst
mentally to comment on her as “a handful for any teacher.”

“We don’t do any work—we’re neglected,” she said, perching

herself on the arm of the sofa, and looking at her sisters as
they sat upon it, with her elbows on her knees and her chin
in her hands. “I expect we shall have some lessons now,
though, we’re ‘in the school-room,’ now we are in the
country—like the Miss Leighs.”

“You could not do regular lessons when you were travelling,”

said Amethyst, “but I dare say you’re all good at French and
German. We might have some readings together anyhow. I
don’t mean to be idle, Una—you’ll help me to stick to work
of some kind, won’t you?”

“You’d better ask me, Amethyst,” said Tory. “I think

education might be amusing. Una never does anything she
can help of any sort, she’s always tired or something.”

“There’s never anything worth doing,” said Una languidly,

“it’s so dull.”

“It won’t be so dull next week,” said Kattern, with meaning,

while Una coloured and shot a savage glance at her.

“Dear me!” said Amethyst. “We shan’t be dull. There are

always such heaps of things to do and to think of. But tell
me about the people who are coming next week, and about
the neighbours round here.”

“There are Miss Riddell and her brother,” said Una. “He’s the
parson, but it seems they’re in society here. They’ll be a
bore most likely.”

“And there are the Leighs,” said Kattern. “There’s a young

Leigh, who looks rather promising.”

“And next week,” said Tory, “the Lorrimores, and Damers,

and Tony.”

“Who is Tony?”

“Oh, Tony’s quite a tame cat here,” said Tory, manifestly

mimicking some one. “He’s always round. My lady has him
about a great deal, and he’s useful, he’s got a little money.
His wife ran away from him—his fault I dare say; and now
they’re di—”
“Tory!” interposed Una, starting up from her lounging
attitude, “be quiet directly, you don’t know what you’re
talking about. I won’t have it!”

“You can’t help Amethyst getting to know things,” said Tory

in her slowest drawl; but she gave in, and swung herself off
the end of the sofa, calling Kattern to come out in the
garden.

Una let herself drop back on the sofa, it was characteristic

of her that she never sat upright a moment longer than she
could help it, and looked furtively round under her hair at
her sister. Amethyst, however, had encountered children
before, possessed of a desire to shock their betters, and
took Tory’s measure according to her lights; which were to
take no notice of improper remarks, especially as Una had
shut the little one up so effectually.

“Well, I must go and write to auntie,” she said; “and then

shall we go out too, Una?”

“Yes, if you like,” said Una, and with a sudden impulse she
put up her face to Amethyst’s, and kissed her.

During the next week or ten days Amethyst was so much

taken up with her own family that the various introductions
in the neighbourhood made very little impression on her.
The result on her mind of these first days of intercourse was
curious. She did not by any means think her home
perfection. She had indeed been vaguely prepared for much
that was imperfect; and she had far too clear and definite a
standard not to know that her sisters really were
“neglected,” and was too much accustomed to good sense
not to be aware that Lady Haredale talked nonsense. But
there was a glamour over her which, perhaps happily,
softened all the rough edges. Amethyst fell in love with her
new “mamma,” and Una conceived a sudden and vehement
devotion for the pretty, cheerful, chattering elder sister, who
was so unlike any one in her previous experience. Amethyst
forgot to criticise what her mother said or did, when the
way of saying it or doing it was so congenial to one who
shared the same soft gaiety of nature; and Una, suffering,
poor child, in many ways, from the “neglect” of which Tory
had too truly spoken, followed all Amethyst’s suggestions,
and clung to her with ever-increasing affection.

A lady was recommended by Miss Riddell to come every

morning and teach the three girls, and though Amethyst did
not exactly share in the lessons, she talked about them,
and helped in the preparation of them, and made them the
fashion, and Tory at least began, as she had said, to find
education interesting. This home-life went on as a
background during all the ensuing weeks, when outer
interests began to assert themselves, and the flood of life
for Amethyst rolled on fast and full.

But all along, and at first especially, there were many

intervals filled up with teaching her sisters the delights of
country walks and primrose-pickings; with reading her
favourite books to them, stirring them up about their
lessons, and, all unintentionally, in giving them something
else to think of than the vagaries of their elders’ life.

A “school-room” had really been provided for them, high up

in one of the corners of the house, with a window in its
angle which caught the sun all day, and looked over the
pretty, rough open country in which Cleverley lay. Here,
with flowers and books and girlish rummage, was the most
home-like spot the Haredale girls had ever known; and here
late one sunny afternoon lounged Una, curled up in the
corner of an old sofa—doing, as was still too often the case,
absolutely nothing.
Suddenly a light step came flying up the stairs, and
Amethyst ran into the room, and stood before her in the full
glory of the early evening sunlight, saying in her fresh
girlish voice—

“Look, Una—look!”

Amethyst was already in her white dinner-dress, and round

her neck was clasped a broad band of glowing purple
jewels. Stars of deep lustrous colour gleamed in her hair
and on her bosom, her eyes shone in the sunshine, which
poured its full glory on her innocent eager face, which in
that clear and searching light seemed to share with the
jewels a sort of heavenly radiance, a splendour of light and
colour from a fairer and purer world.

“Amethyst,” exclaimed Una, starting up, “you look like an

angel.”

Amethyst laughed, and stepping out of the sunlight, came

and knelt down by Una’s side; no longer a heavenly vision
of light and colour, but a happy-faced girl, decorated with
quaint and splendid ornaments of amethysts set with small
diamonds.

“Mamma says that she has given me my own jewels. She

says she was so fond of these beautiful stones that she
made up her mind to call me after them, and I am to wear
them whenever I can. Aren’t they lovely?”

“Yes,” said Una; “I didn’t know my lady had them still.

They’re just fit for you.”

Amethyst took off the splendid necklet, and held it in her

hands.
“They’re too beautiful to be vain of,” she said, dreamily. “It’s
rather nice to have a stone and colour of one’s own. I used
to think amethysts and purple rather dull when we chose
favourites at school. Amethyst means temperance, you
know. It’s a dull meaning, but I expect it’s a very useful one
for me now.”

“Why, what do you mean?” said Una.

“Well!” said Amethyst, “I do enjoy everything so very much.

I feel as if music, and dancing, and going out with mother,
and having pretty things to wear, would be so very
delightful. So if the most delightful things of all remind me
that I mustn’t let myself go, but be temperate in all things,
it ought to be getting some good out of the beauty, oughtn’t
it?”

Amethyst spoke quite simply, as one to whom various little

methods of self-discipline were as natural a subject of
discussion as various methods of study.

“I hope you’ll never look different from what you did just
now,” said Una, in a curious strained voice, and laying her
head on her sister’s shoulder; “but it’s all going to begin.”

“Why, Una, what is it?” as the words ended in a stifled sob.

“Headache again? You naughty child, I’m sure you want
tonics, or sea air, or something. And I wish you would let
me plait all this hair into a tail, it is much too hot and heavy
for you.”

“Oh no, no! not now,” said Una, now fairly crying, “not just
now—let it alone. I don’t want to be grown-up!”

“A tail doesn’t look grown-up,” said Amethyst in a matter-

of-fact voice. “Any way there’s nothing to cry about. If you
want to come down and see the people after dinner, you
must lie still now and rest. But you ought to go to bed early,
and get a good-night. When people cry for nothing, it shows
they’re ill.”

“I dare say it does, but I’m not ill,” said Una.

“Then you’re silly,” said Amethyst, with cheerful briskness;

but Una did not resent the tone. She gave Amethyst a long
clinging kiss, and then lay back on the sofa; while her sister
went off to arrange the jewels to her satisfaction, in
preparation for the first state dinner-party at which she was
to make her appearance.
 Chapter Six.
Historical Types.

“Well, father—how goes the world in Cleverley? How are

you getting on with the charming but undesirable family at
the Hall, of whom Aunt Meg writes to me?”

Sylvester Riddell and his father were walking up and down

the centre path of the Rectory kitchen-garden, smoking an
after-breakfast pipe together, between borders filled with
tulips, daffodils, polyanthuses, and other spring flowers,
behind which espaliers were coming into blossom, and early
cabbages and young peas sprouting up in fresh and orderly
rows. The red tower of the church looked over a tall hedge
of lilac trees, and beyond was the little street, soon leading
into fields and open, prettily-wooded country, rising into low
hills in the distance.

Sylvester had just arrived for a few days’ visit from

Oxbridge, where he had recently obtained a first-class, a
fellowship, and an appointment as tutor of his college. His
father and grandfather had both been scholars, and such
honours seemed to them almost the hereditary right of their
family.

Sylvester inherited from his father long angular limbs,

rugged but well-formed features, and brown skin. But the
dreamy look, latent in the father’s fine grey eyes, was
habitual in the son’s; while a certain humorous twinkle in
their corners had had less time to develop itself, and was
much less apparent in the younger man’s face.

The old Rector had shaggy grey hair, eyebrows, and

whiskers; he had grown stout, and his everyday clothes
were somewhat loose and shabby. Sylvester had brown hair,
cut short, and was close shaved, and his dress was neat,
and did his tailor credit. Still, the father’s youth was closely
recalled by this son of his old age, and the two found each
other congenial spirits.

The fox-terrier that barked in front of them, and the old

collie that paced soberly behind, turned eyes of kindness
alike on both, the great grey cat rubbed against both pairs
of trousers, and the old gardener lay in wait to show
Sylvester his side of a dispute with “master” as to the
clipping of the lilac hedges.

Fifty years or so ago the Rector of Cleverley had been a

young undergraduate, remarkable for the fine scholarship
and elegant verse-making of his day, but with a touch of
genius that made him differ from his fellows; careless,
simple, and untidy, yet fond of society and good fellowship,
full of the romance and sentiment of his day,—a man who
admired pretty women, but had only one lasting love, from
whom circumstances had divided him till he married her
late in life, and lost her soon after Sylvester’s birth.

When, on his marriage, he took the living of Cleverley, he

became an excellent parish priest, the personal friend of all
his flock, and deeply beloved by them; a little shy of
modern organisation, and more hard on his curates for
mispronouncing Greek names than on many worse
offenders. He was a gentleman, and a man of the world
who had other experiences than those of parochial life, and
belonged to a race of clergy more common in the last
generation than in this one.

Sylvester was meant to be much the same sort of person as

his father; but he was born in a grave and more self-
conscious age. He had all the Rector’s cordial kindliness,
and much of his keen insight; but the romantic, dreamy
side of the character was both more carefully hidden and
stronger in the younger man. The sentiment of the eighth
decade of the nineteenth century was less cheerful and
light-hearted than that of the third or fourth. The Rector
had been among those who still laughed and sighed with
Moore, and smiled with Praed (he had not been the sort of
man to give himself over to Byron). He had fallen in love
with the miller’s and the gardener’s fair daughters in the
early days of Tennyson. Sylvester dived into Browning, and
dreamed with Rossetti. He was haunted by ideals which he
did not hope to realise; and, moreover, felt himself
compelled frequently to pretend that he had no ideals at all.

And although he had worked hard to attain his university

distinctions, he took the duties they involved somewhat
lightly, and hardly found in his profession a sufficient
interest and aim in life, fulfilling its claims in fact in a
somewhat formal fashion.

He was, however, a very affectionate son, and was

delighted to find himself at home again, and full of curiosity
as to the new-comers at Cleverley Hall.

“Are they as charming as they appeared at first sight?” he

asked.

“My dear boy,” said the Rector in a confidential tone, “they

are very charming. But I’m sorry for the little girl. There’s
something ideal about her. But it’s a bad stock, Syl, a bad
stock!”

“So I’ve always heard,” said Sylvester, slightly amused at

his father’s tone of reluctant admiration. “But what’s amiss
with them? We’re to dine there to-night, I believe?”
“Yes,” said the Rector, “and we shall have a very pleasant
evening. You see, my dear boy, the ladies here are rather
pleased with Lady Haredale. They were prejudiced—very
much prejudiced against her. Now they say she is much
nicer and quieter than they expected, and they believe that
the reports about her are exaggerated. But they don’t see
that she is so handsome. The fact is, you know, Syl,” and
here Mr Riddell paused in his walk and spoke in confidential
accents, “that she belongs to another order of women
altogether—to the fascinating women of history, and her
beauty is a fact quite beyond discussion. But she’s not a
good woman, Sylvester, and never will be.”

“The fascinating women of history,” said Sylvester

—“Cleopatra, and others, were perhaps a little deficient in
moral backbone. But I’m sure, father, Lady Haredale must
be a charming hostess. I quite look forward to the party to-
night. So she outshines her daughter, I suppose.”

“My dear boy,” said Mr Riddell, “there’s something about

that little girl that goes to one’s heart. What is to become of
her?”

“But what is it that is so dangerous about Lady Haredale?”

said Sylvester. “She doesn’t appear to offend the
proprieties.”

“She has no principle, Syl—not a stiver,” said the Rector,

“and I like the look of none of their friends. So, my dear
boy, I wouldn’t advise you to get drawn into the set too
much. They’re very sociable and hospitable. Young Leigh
seems a good deal attracted.”

“Old Lucy? Really? Has he succumbed to the historical type

of fascination? The young lady must be charming indeed.
But, father, I am immensely interested. I must study these
historical ladies—at a distance, of course. But there’s Aunt
Meg. I must go and ask her how the parish is getting on.”

Miss Riddell, who represented the practical element in the

household and family, honestly said that she liked gossip.
Sylvester called it studying life. In both, it was really kindly
interest in old friends and neighbours.

But to-day, she was so much taken up with the new-

comers, and evidently admired them so much, that
Sylvester prepared for the dinner-party with much curiosity.
As he followed his father and aunt into the long low
drawing-room, he was struck at once by its more tasteful
and cheerful appearance than when he had last seen it, and
by the lively murmur of conversation that filled it, and, as
he advanced to receive Lady Haredale’s greeting, he did not
think that she was splendidly dressed, or startlingly
fashionable, but he perceived at once that she was a great
beauty. She introduced “my eldest daughter,” and Sylvester
saw, standing by her side, a tall girl, in the simplest of white
gowns, but with splendid jewels clasping her slender throat,
and shining in her hair. She smiled, and looked at him with
the most cordial friendliness, and she struck him as quite
unlike the general run of young ladies, with her lithe
graceful figure, her full soft lips, and her clear spiritual eyes.

“I know what it is,” thought Sylvester, “she is Rossetti’s

ideal; but he never reached her. She is the maiden that
Chiaro saw. But she is also a happy girl. By Jove! no wonder
the dad was so impressive!”

Presently Mrs Leigh and her son arrived to complete the

party, and were greeted by Amethyst as well-established
acquaintances.
Sylvester knew Lucian Leigh well, had been at school with
him, and believed him to be, in all points, a good fellow. But
as he watched him making small talk with greater ease than
usual to the young lady, it struck Sylvester as a new idea
that it was a pity that Lucian’s appearance was so
deceptive; he had not at all the sort of character suggested
by the first sight of his face. But that the two faces
harmonised well as they sat side by side at the table, was
indisputable.

Presently, he saw Amethyst turn to the Rector, who sat on

her left hand, and begin to talk to him with pretty respectful
courtesy. Evidently she did not think it well-behaved to be
absorbed in her younger companion, and Mr Riddell
succeeded in amusing her, for she laughed and looked
interested, and he evidently put forward his best powers of
pleasing.

Sylvester looked with curiosity at the rest of the company.

Some, of course, were well-known neighbours; others,
strangers staying in the house, who did not greatly take his
fancy. The most prominent of these was a middle-aged,
military-looking man, who was introduced as Major Fowler,
and who struck Sylvester as a specimen of the ‘bad style’
which had been sought for in vain in Lady Haredale and her
daughter. Lady Haredale called him Tony, and he seemed on
intimate terms in the house, especially with the younger
girls, who were found in the drawing-room after dinner—
Una with a bright colour in her usually pale cheeks, and a
sudden flow of childish chatter. Presently Victoria, with an
air of infantine confidence, came up to Sylvester and said—

“Please, are there any primroses growing here?”

“Primroses! why yes; haven’t you seen them?”

“We have never gathered any primroses, we want to go and
get some. Will you show us the way?” said Tory, looking up
in his face.

“Oh, Tory,” said Amethyst, who, passing near, heard this

request; “there are plenty of primroses which we can find
quite easily.”

“But I should be delighted to show you the best places for

them,” said Sylvester, with alacrity.

“Mr Leigh will come too,” said Tory, turning to Lucian. “We’re
Cockneys, we want to be taught to enjoy the country,
mother says so.”

“We’ll have a grand primrose picnic,” said Lucian. “My

sisters will come too. Miss Haredale, do let us show you
your first primrose.”

“Oh, I have gathered plenty of primroses,” said Amethyst,

smiling, but with a blush and a puzzled look, as if she did
not quite know what it behoved her to say. “But one cannot
have too many,” she added after a moment.

The primrose gathering was arranged for the next day,

ostensibly between the Miss Haredales, and the girls from
Ashfield, escorted by their governess.

“But,” said Tory afterwards with a knowing look, “we shan’t

have to gather them by ourselves, you’ll see.”

“Tory!” exclaimed Amethyst, “you should not have asked Mr

Riddell and Mr Leigh to come and gather primroses with us!
And how could you say that you did not know where they
grew, when we got some yesterday?”
“Oh, they’ll like to come,” said Tory, “and I’m quite little
enough to ask them.”

She made an indescribable face at Amethyst, and walked

away as she spoke.

“Did you like your first party, my pretty girl?” said Lady
Haredale, putting a caressing hand on Amethyst’s shoulder.

“Oh yes, mamma, it was delightful.”

“I am going to be the old mother now, you know, Tony. It is

this child’s turn now.”

“You will have a great deal of satisfaction in teaching her,”

said Tony, with an intonation which Amethyst did not
understand, and a look she did not like.

But, as she shut herself into her own room, the images in
her mind were full of colour and brightness. She felt that
she had begun to live. The manifold relations of family life,
the new acquaintances, even the new dresses and jewels,
filled her with interest and pleasure so great that it brought
a pang of remorse.

“Poor auntie!” she thought, “and now she is dull, without

me!”

And, being too much excited to sleep, she sat down to write
some of her first eager impressions to Miss Haredale; till, at
what seemed to her a wickedly late hour, she heard a light
soft foot in the passage.

She opened the door softly, and there was Una, still in her
white evening frock, with shining eyes and burning cheeks,
starting nervously at sight of her sister.
“Una! Do you know how late it is? Where have you been?
How your head will ache to-morrow!”

“I’ve been in the smoking-room and I’ve smoked a

cigarette, and tasted a brandy-and-soda!” said Una, with a
touch of Tory’s wicked defiance.

“Would mother let you?” said Amethyst slowly.

“Oh yes!” said Una, shrugging her shoulders, “but I shan’t

let you!”

She flung her arms round Amethyst and kissed her with
burning lips, then scuttled away into her own room.
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