spanking irresponsibility.
Lady Locke looked about her with supreme contentment. She loved the
English flavour of the place. It came upon her with all the charm of old
time recollections. Ten years had elapsed since she had strolled about
an English village, or driven through an English country town. Her eyes
suddenly filled with tears, and yet she was not unhappy. It was, on the
contrary, the subtlety of her happiness that made her heart throb, and
brought a choky feeling into her throat. Her tears were the idle ones,
that are the sweetest tears of all.

Mrs. Windsor was not subtly happy. She never was. Sometimes she was
irresponsibly cheerful, and generally she was lively, especially when
there were any men about; but though she read much minor poetry, and
knew all the minor poets, she was not poetic, and she honestly thought
that John Gray's "Silver Points" were far finer literature than
Wordsworth's "Ode to Immortality," or Rossetti's "Blessed Damosel." She
liked sugar and water, especially when the sugar was very sweet, and the
water very cloudy. As they drove through the High Street, she
exclaimed--

"Look, Emily, there goes George Meredith into the post-office. How like
he is to Watts' portrait of him! I never can get him to come near me,
although I have read all his books. Mr. Amarinth says that he is going
to bring out a new edition of them, 'done into English' by himself. It
is such a good idea, and would help the readers so much. I believe he
could make a lot of money by it, but it would be very difficult to do, I
suppose. However, Mr. Amarinth is so clever that he might manage it. We
shall soon be there now. Just look at Tommy! I do believe they are
letting him drive."

Loud shouts of boyish triumph from in front in fact announced this
divine consummation of happiness, and Tommy's face, wreathed in excited
smiles, was turned round towards them, to attract their attention to his
deeds of prowess. The fat white pony, evidently under the horrified
impression that the son of Nimshi had suddenly mounted behind him, broke
into a laborious and sprawling gallop, and, amid clouds of dust, the
governess cart vanished down the hill, Lady Locke's maid striking
attitudes of terror, and the smart groom shaking his slim and belted
sides with laughter.

Lady Locke winked her tears away, and smiled.

"He is in the seventh heaven," she said.

"I only hope he won't be in the road directly," rejoined her cousin.
"Ah! h