brightest of
smiles, and the whitest of teeth.

'Cousin Frank,' she says, 'where do you gentlemen lunch to-day?'

'Look here,' he answers, 'you've come right up the line between the
guns and the beaters.'

'Oh, that's all right,' she says, gaily. 'I know your father doesn't
allow shooting at ground game into cover.'

'Lunch is to be up at the Hill Farm.'

'Oh, that's the very thing. I want a long walk. And I will help
Higgins to have everything ready for you.'

'It will be very rough and tumble. You had much better go back home to
lunch.'

'But I have come for the very purpose! I have brought sugar and
cinnamon to mull the claret for you. You will find it scalding hot
when you come.'

A hare ran by some dozen yards off: he did not fire.

'I see I am in your way. Good-bye for the present.'

'Good-bye. If you do mean to go up to the Hill Farm, you had better
keep to the road. Or else,' he added, laughing, 'Mr. Ferrers will have
something to say to you.'

'Well,' said pretty Mary Coventry to herself, as she passed on and into
the road, 'he did not even thank me for all my trouble. And I always
thought sailors were supposed to be nice. But perhaps he is lamenting
some blackamoor sweetheart in Patagonia, and won't take any notice of
anybody.'

It was about a week after this that Captain Frank, having run up to
town, met a young gentleman in Piccadilly whom he seemed to recognise.
He looked again--yes, it could be no other than Tom Beresford. But it
was Tom Beresford transformed. Mr. Tom was now of age; he had his
club, which he much frequented; he had assumed the air and manner of a
man about town. That is to say, although he was clever enough and had
a sufficient touch of humour, he cultivated a languid stare, and was
chary of speech; and although he was a well-built young fellow, he
walked with his elbows out and his knees in, as if the tightness of his
trousers and his boots made it nigh impossible for him to walk at all.
Moreover, his dress was more rigidly correct than ever; and of course
he carried the inevitable cane--inevitable as the walking-stick of the
Athenian.

Frank King went up to him eagerly.

'Hallo, Beresford, how are you?'

'How are you?' was the answer, as a slight boyish blush somewhat
interfered with the dignity of Mr. Tom. 'How are you? I heard you
were at home again. I heard of you through the Strathernes.'

'And I heard of you in the same way,' said Captain Kin