e has
taken any notice of her, she will be charming," says Dulce, moodily. "If
not, she will be--the other thing."

"And the other thing isn't nice," puts in Dicky, in his pleasantest
tone.

"Then what shall we do with her just at first?" says Miss Blount, who is
evidently in fear of breakers ahead.

"Look here," says Mr. Browne, who couldn't hold his tongue to save his
life, "I'll tell you the first thing to say to any fellow who arrives at
your house. Don't go worrying him about the health of his sister, and
his cousins, and his aunts, but just ask him if he will have a B. and S.
He _will_, you know--and--and there you are. He won't forget it to you
afterwards."

Sir Mark laughs. Portia unfurls her fan, and smiles faintly behind it.

"Julia isn't a fellow, and I'm sure she wouldn't like brandy," says
Dulce, who is feeling a little hopeless as she contemplates the coming
of this new guest.

"The more fool she," says Dicky. "Try Madeira, then. She has a
tenderness for Madeira; and tell her her hat is lovely. That'll fetch
her."

"Come and sit here, Dicky," says Portia, motioning to the footstool near
her. "Your advice is not to be surpassed."

"It's not so bad," says Mr. Browne, comfortably settling himself on the
cushion at her feet, just as Fabian enters the room; "but I'm sorry she
won't entertain the brandy idea. That never fails. It's friendly,
homely, you know, and that."

"Dicky says if you drink rum and new milk every morning before
breakfast, you will live forever," says Dulce, thoughtfully.

"What a miserable idea," says Fabian, in his usual soft voice, that has
yet something stern about it. "It suggests the Wandering Jew, and other
horrors. Who would live forever?"

"_I_ would," says Dicky, with a sentimental glance at Portia, "if I
might only remain here."

"Get up, Dicky, and don't make an ass of yourself," says Sir Mark, a
little sharply for him, considering his natural laziness, and his
tendency to let all things slide. As a rule he makes indolence his god,
and sacrifices everything to it. Now, some superior influence compels
him to make this speech, and to regard Dicky with a glance that bespeaks
disfavor. Fabian is standing somewhat apart, his eyes as usual fixed
upon the flickering shadows and the touch of green in the ocean beyond,
but with his mind many leagues away. Yet now he turns, and looks with
wonder at Sir Mark, as though astonished at his tone, and Sir Mark looks
at him. Ther