ecause," Mrs. Jerry said, "she calls me
mamma, and I am not going to stand that." For some time he gave
thought to neither of them; he was engrossed in what he had been
reading, and it turned him into a fine and magnanimous character. When
gradually her Ladyship began to flit among his reflections, it was not
to disturb them, but because she harmonized. He wanted to apologize to
her. The apology grew in grace as the dinner progressed; it was so
charmingly composed that he was profoundly stirred by it.

The opportunity came presently in the hall, where it is customary
after dinner to lounge or stroll if you are afraid of the night air.
Or if you do not care for music, you can go into the drawing-room and
listen to the piano.

"I am sure mamma is looking for you everywhere," Lady Pippinworth
said, when Tommy took a chair beside her. "It is her evening, you
know."

"Surely you would not drive me away," he replied with a languishing
air, and then smiled at himself, for he was done with this sort of
thing. "Lady Pippinworth," said he, firmly--it needs firmness when of
late you have been saying "Alice."

"Well?"

"I have been thinking----" Tommy began.

"I am sure you have," she said.

"I have been thinking," he went on determinedly, "that I played a poor
part this afternoon. I had no right to say what I said to you."

"As far as I can remember," she answered, "you did not say very much."

"It is like your generosity, Lady Pippinworth," he said, "to make
light of it; but let us be frank: I made love to you."

Anyone looking at his expressionless face and her lazy disdain (and
there were many in the hall) would have guessed that their talk was of
where were you to-day? and what should I do to-morrow?

"You don't really mean that?" her Ladyship said incredulously. "Think,
Mr. Sandys, before you tell me anything more. Are you sure you are not
confusing me with mamma?"

"I did it," said Tommy, remorsefully.

"In my absence?" she asked.

"When you were with me on the veranda."

Her eyes opened to their widest, so surprised that the lashes had no
time for their usual play.

"Was that what you call making love, Mr. Sandys?" she inquired.

"I call a spade a spade."

"And now you are apologizing to me, I understand?"

"If you can in the goodness of your heart forgive me, Lady
Pippinworth--"

"Oh, I do," she said heartily, "I do. But how stupid you must have
thought me not even to know! I feel that it is I wh