a great deal of attention when we were in England. We had the
loveliest time down there you can possibly conceive. And, my
dear Fleda, he wears such a fur cloak! — lined with the most
exquisite black fox."

"But, Constance!" said Fleda, a little vexed, though laughing
— "any man may wear a fur cloak; the thing is, what is inside
of it."

"It is perfectly indifferent to me what is inside of it," said
Constance, ecstatically. "I can see nothing but the edges of
the black fox, especially when it is worn so very gracefully."

"But, in some cases, there might be a white fox within."

"There is nothing of the fox about Mr. Carleton," said
Constance, impatiently. "If it had been anybody else, I should
have said he was a bear two or three times; but he wears
everything as he does his cloak, and makes you take what he
pleases from him — what I wouldn't take from any- body else, I
know."

"With a fox lining," said Fleda, laughing.

"Then foxes haven't got their true character, that's all. Now
I'll just tell you an instance — it was at a party somewhere —
it was at that tiresome Mrs. Swinburne's, where the evenings
are always so stupid, and there was nothing worth going or
staying for but the supper — except Mr. Carleton — and he
never stays five minutes, except at two or three places; and