l very good invitations to
country houses in Norfolk and Suffolk, where there were large and
cheerful parties gathered together, and partridge shooting to make a man
dream of, in order to come down to the poor sport of Kynaston and the
insipid society of a newly married couple, with whom he was not on very
intimate terms, is a problem which Mr. Wilde alone could have
satisfactorily solved. Being here, he was naturally disposed to make
himself extremely agreeable to his hostess.

"You can't think how anxious I am to inspect the _elite_ of Meadowshire!"
he said, laughing. "My life is an incomplete thing without a sight of
it."

"You will witness the last token of mental aberration in a
decently-brought up young woman in the person of Beatrice Miller. You
know her. Well, she has actually engaged herself to a barrister whom
nobody knows anything about, and who--_bien entendu_--has no briefs--they
never have any. He was staying here for a couple of days; a slow, heavy
young man, who quoted Blackstone. Maurice took a fancy to him abroad;
however, he was clever enough to save Beatrice's life by stopping a
run-away horse. Some people say the accident was the invention of the
lovers' own imaginations; however, the parents believed in it, and it
turned the scales in his favour; but he has taken himself off, I am
thankful to say, and is staying at Lutterton with her uncle. Beatrice
might have married well, but girls are such fools. Hallo, Topsy, what are
you barking at?"

Mrs. Kynaston's pug had come tearing out of the house with a whole chorus
of noisy yappings. The peacocks, deeply wounded in their tenderest
feelings, instantly took wing, and went sailing away majestically over
the crimson and gold parterre of flowers below.

"What can possess her to bark at the peacocks?" said Helen. "Be quiet,
Topsy."

But Topsy refused to be tranquillized.

"She is barking at something below the terrace; perhaps there is a cat
there," said Denis.

"If so, it would be Dutch courage, indeed," answered Helen, laughing.
They went to the edge of the stone parapet and looked over; there stood
Tommy Daintree below them, among the hollyhocks.

"Why, little boy, who are you, and what do you want? Why, are you not Mr.
Daintree's little boy?"

"Yes."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"I want to give a note to Captain Kynaston," said Tommy, crimson with
confusion. "Is he ever coming in?"

"He is in now; give me the note."

"I was to g