e, required a companion, her aunt tacked herself on to Mr.
Porkington's establishment, and became a permanent and substantial
fixture. Fat, ugly, and spiteful when she dared, she became a thorn in
the side of the poor tutor, and supported on all occasions the whims and
squabbles of her niece. Whenever the "coach" evinced any tendency to
travel too fast, Mrs. Porkington put the "drag" on, and the vehicle
stopped.

Mr. and Mrs. Porkington had now been married three years; and, as the
long vacation was at hand, it became necessary to arrange their plans for
a "Reading Party."

"If I might be allowed to suggest," said Mrs. Porkington, reclining on
her sofa, with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling, "I think a continental
reading party would be the most beneficial to the young men. The air of
the continent, I have always found (Mrs. Porkington had crossed the
channel upon one occasion) is very invigorating; and, though I know you
don't speak French, my dear, yet you should avail yourself of every
opportunity of acquiring it."

"But, my love," he replied, "we must consider. Many parents have an
objection to the expense, and--"

"Oh, of course!" she interrupted, "if ever I venture, which I seldom do,
to propose anything, there are fifty objections raised at once. Pray,
may I ask to what uncomfortable quarter of the globe you propose to take
me? Perhaps to the Gold Coast--or some other deadly spot--quite likely!"

"Well, my love," said the Coach, "I thought of the Lakes."

"Thought of the Lakes!" slowly repeated his wife. "Since I have had the
honour of being allied with you in marriage, I believe you have never
thought of anything else!"

There was some truth in this, and the tutor felt it. "Then, my dear,"
said he mildly, "I really do not know where we should go."

Thereupon his wife ran through the names of several likely places, to
each of which she stated some clear and decided objection. Ultimately
she mentioned Babbicombe as being a place she might be induced to regard
with favour; the truth being that she had made up her mind from the first
not to be taken anywhere else. "Babbicombe by all means let it be," said
he, "since you wish it."

"I do not wish it at all," she cried, "as you know quite well, my dear;
and it is very hard that you should always try to make it appear that I
wish to do a thing, when I have no desire at all upon the subject. Have
you noticed, aunt, how invariably Charles endeavours t