which she had surveyed his family portraits. I know
nothing more of Sir Harry, except that she called him Pips, which
seems to settle him.

"They will be calling me the round gentleman," Tommy said ruefully to
her that evening, as he strolled with her towards the lake, and indeed
he was looking stout. Mrs. Jerry did not accompany them; she wanted to
be seen with her trying stepdaughter as little as possible, and
Tommy's had been the happy proposal that he should attend them
alternately--"fling away my own figure to save yours," he had said
gallantly to Mrs. Jerry.

"Do you mind?" Lady Pippinworth asked.

"I mind nothing," he replied, "so long as I am with you."

He had not meant to begin so near the point where they had last left
off; he had meant to begin much farther back: but an irresistible
desire came over him to make sure that she really did permit him to
say this sort of thing.

Her only reply was a flutter of the little fans and a most
contemptuous glance.

"Alice," said Tommy, in the old way.

"Well?"

"You don't understand what it is to me to say Alice again."

"Many people call me Alice."

"But they have a right to."

"I supposed you thought you had a right to also."

"No," said Tommy. "That is why I do it."

She strolled on, more scornful and helpless than ever. Apparently it
did not matter what one said to Lady Pippinworth; her pout kept it
within the proprieties.

There was a magnificent sunset that evening, which dyed a snow-topped
mountain pink. "That is what I came all the way from London to see,"
Tommy remarked, after they had gazed at it.

"I hope you feel repaid," she said, a little tartly.

"You mistake my meaning," he replied. "I had heard of these wonderful
sunsets, and an intense desire came over me to see you looking
disdainfully at them. Yes, I feel amply repaid. Did you notice, Alice,
or was it but a fancy of my own, that when he had seen the expression
on your face the sun quite slunk away?"

"I wonder you don't do so also," she retorted. She had no sense of
humour, and was rather stupid; so it is no wonder that the men ran
after her.

"I am more gallant than the sun," said he. "If I had been up there in
its place, Alice, and you had been looking at me, I could never have
set."

She pouted contemptuously, which meant, I think, that she was well
pleased. Yet, though he seemed to be complimenting her, she was not
sure of him. She had never been sure of Tommy, nor, in