ion
seem generally to arise about 10 p.m., and thereafter deep masculine
growls and shrill feminine yaps alternate until the small hours. On
these occasions I make up my mind never, never to marry. Especially a
bad-tempered man. Especially _one_ bad-tempered man! But, of course,
that question was settled long ago.

Hurrah! I am getting on. A most exciting thing has happened. The
Manners know Mr Thorold, and last night, when I was sitting with then
after dinner (by request!) he came in to call, and we were introduced.
He is a delicate, wearied-to-death, and wish-I-were-out-of-it-looking
man, but when he smiles or gets interested his face lights up, and he is
handsome and interesting. He looked profoundly bored at finding me
installed by the fire, but thawed later on, and asked my advice on
various domestic problems which lie heavily on his soul.

"My housekeeper has such sensitive feelings. If I find fault, or even
mildly suggest an improvement, she collapses into tears, and the
children have a poor time of it for the rest of the day. Sometimes I
think I must send her away, but I might get some one worse; and I am
busy in the city, and have no time to look round."

I did not feel capable of giving advice on this subject, but said
soothingly:--

"I wish you would allow the little girls to come to tea with me
sometimes. I have seen them coming in and out, and have longed to know
them. I'm fond of children, and Mrs Manners will tell you that I can
be trusted."

His face lit up; he actually beamed.

"It is good of you! They get so few changes. It would be the greatest
treat! If I may I'll bring them myself next Saturday."

Shades of Aunt Eliza! For a moment I felt quite guilty; then I raised
my eyes to the Chippendale mirror hanging on the opposite wall, and
beheld the douce figure of Miss Harding with a Paisley shawl draped over
her black silk shoulders, and I breathed again, and said primly that I
should be very pleased, and were the dear little ones allowed currants,
or were they limited to plain sponge cake? He said impatiently:--

"Oh, poor kiddies! Anything you like. If they're ill afterwards, it's
worth it. I'm afraid I am not much of a disciplinarian, Miss Harding.
Life takes that _role_ out of one's hands. Let them be happy--that's
what I ask."

His face puckered; he looked so sad, so helpless, so baffled, poor, big,
helpless thing, that my heart just ached for him. Aunt Eliza was
r