The postilions flourished their whips, and Albert Grey found himself with Mrs. Auget

and Mr. Auget; Emily had, in a moment disappeared.

CHAPTER XIII,

"The picture might have been better painted, if the painter had taken more pains."

GOLDSMITH.

ALBERT GREY found himself utterly foiled at all his purposes, when the emblazoned barouche of Lady Windermere had whirled out of his sight the two beings most busy with his feelings.

He would have taken leave of Mr. Auget and his lady, and have returned to the Retreat; the hospitable gentleman, however, detained him by a tenacious pounce upon his coat button, a forcible habit acquired by Mr. Auget when in his earlier and less ambitious days. As Mr. Smith, he had largely studied the various mysteries and feelings connected with hardware.

"Oh! pray, my dear, do not detain poor Mr. Grey captive by the button!" remarked Mrs. Auget, smiling a rebuke, and, like a learned and dutiful wife, sacrificing her husband to her dread lest Mr. Grey should suppose that she could sanction her husband's crudities. "You did not learn that infelicitous habit in Chesterfield?”

"No! certainly not, my love; never was so far north as Chesterfield in my life; was once at Derby, but no further!" replied Mr. Auget, yet more vigorously grasping the shining protuberance: "I probably learned it at Birmingham!"

"Oh! you can be so droll when you please," answered Mrs. Auget, still more annoyed, and, therefore, smiling with a serenity still more bewitching; "I did not refer to the town, but to those delightful didactic and paternal epistles of Lord Chesterfield."

"Oh! I remember the book," responded the magistrate; "you recommended me to peruse it. I am no great reader, Mr. Grey. If my Lord Chesterfield says any thing about buttons, and that sort of article, I must look

for it. What could his lordship know about button - making? A dull book, Mr. Grey. Mrs. Auget is taking my education in hand, you must know." And Mr. Auget indulged in a laugh of no ordinary dimensions at the idea.

"Perhaps, my dear," said the lady, with a clever design to escape from the unlucky topic; perhaps you had better invite Mr. Grey to favour us with a few minutes more of his society in my literary boudoir. A cheerful room is preferable to this chilly air: beside, we have a novelty to submit to Mr. Grey's opinion.

The button was surrendered, and Albert Grey followed Mr. and Mrs. Auget to the library.

The pamphlets and the planisphere lay undisturbed, as they had lain before on his first being ushered into the house; but the apartment was not, as then, untenanted. Emily Auget was there. She did not, for the first moment, notice the entrance of the party. She was standing at the far end of the room, before a small portrait, which had been previ

ously concealed from Mr. Grey's observation by a silk curtain, now drawn aside.

"Step forward, my dear sir," commenced Mr. Auget to his visitor. "Tell me what think of that painting?"

you

Emily hastily turned her eyes from the canvass, and bent them upon the ground; and Albert Grey saw an innocent gladness play upon her lip, at the same time that conscionsness of discovery mantled her cheek with crimson.

Mr. Auget noticed nothing of the sort; but exclaimed,

"Just arrived, Mr. Grey, from London, where it went for that expensive frame. All done secretly. Capital likeness, is it not? our friend himself!"

"Henry Molyneux!" exclaimed Albert Grey; " a very faithful resemblance of Henry Molyneux indeed!"

"Resemblance!" rejoined Mr. Auget, stepping backwards and forwards, chasséeing to the right and left, in order to catch the fresh light; and, at length having decided upon the most favourable point of view, in