oned home by no disaster?'--

'It was a sort of disaster to me to be obliged to go,' said
Wych Hazel, 'but I found neither earthquake nor volcano at
home.'

'Who came for you, Hazel?' said Phinny Powder, pushing into
the group which was forming. 'I said it was downright wicked
to let you go off so. How did we know but that something
dreadful had got hold of you? I thought they ought all of them
to go in a body and knock the doors down and find out. But
after your message they wouldn't. Who _did_ come for you,
Hazel?'

'Who did?' said Hazel. 'Do you think it could have been the
same parties who once sent away my carriage when I wanted it?'

'No,' said Phinny; 'I know it wasn't. But who _did_ come for
you, Hazel? Nobody knew where you were. And what made you go,
if there was no earthquake at home, as you said?'

'Were you _made_ to go, really?' asked Mme. Lasalle, slyly. 'Has
Josephine hit the mark with a stray arrow?'

'O, of course I was made to go,--or I shouldn't have gone,'
said Wych Hazel lightly. 'My own carriage came for me,
Josephine, and I came home in it. Do you feel any better?'

'No, I don't!' said that young lady boldly, while others who
were silent used their eyes. '_You_ didn't order it, and I just
want to know who did. O, Hazel, I want to ask you--' But she
lowered her voice and glanced round her suspiciously.

'Is it safe? Where is that old Mr.----? do you see him anywhere?
He has eyes, and I suppose he has ears. Hush! I guess it's
safe. Hazel, my dear, _have_ you got two guardians, you poor
creature?'

'Have you only just found that out?' said Hazel, drawing a
little back from the whisper and answering aloud. 'Prim, what
will you have? Mr. May, please bring another ice for Miss
Maryland.'

'Well, I've guessed it all summer,' said Kitty Fisher, putting
her word in now. 'I always knew that when Miss Kennedy turned
round, the Duke turned too, to see what she was looking at.'

If truth be no slander, it is sometimes full as hard to bear.
Wych Hazel eat her own ice for the next two minutes and
wondered what it was.

'Hazel, my dear, you had need to be a saint!' Mme. Lasalle
whispered. 'It is--absolutely--outrageous; something not to be
borne!'

'But the fun of it is,' broke in Kitty again, 'that we all
took it for granted it was mere lover-like devotion! And now,
behold, c'est tout au contraire!'

Since the day of the ride it had been war to the knife with
Kitty Fisher.

'Kitty! Kitt