in when the Dean's was scratched out owing to a
suspicion of whimsy-whamsies. Fred was a lively fellow, whose trinity of
occupations consisted of shooting, polo, and flirting; they are set down
in his own order of merit; by profession he was a soldier, and just now
he adored Lady Richard hopelessly; he was tall, handsome, and no more
steady than the sons of ordinary men.

"We gave them the slip beautifully, didn't we?" he was asking in
exultation. "Think they're still on the top of the hill, jawing, Lady
Richard?"

"I don't mind how long they stay there," she answered, as she came across
to the group on the lawn, a dainty youthful little figure, in her white
frock and straw hat. "And how have you three been amusing yourselves?"
she inquired. "I declare my head aches, Fred," she complained. "Now is
the Church to swallow the State, or the other way round, or are they to
swallow one another, or what?"

"Such a fine day too!" observed Mrs. Baxter. Morewood burst into a laugh.

"To waste it on whimsy-whamsies!" cried May, joining in his mirth.

She looked so handsome in her merriment that Fred's eyes dwelt on her for
a moment, a new notion showing in their pleasant expanse of blue
simplicity. But loyalty's the thing--and a pleasant thing too when Lady
Richard stood for it. Besides May Gaston was rather serious as a rule and
given to asking questions; she might be able to flirt though; she just
might--if there had happened to be anybody for her to flirt with; he
pitied her a little because there was not.

"Mrs. Baxter," said Morewood suddenly, "have you ever thought what would
happen if you stopped making petticoats?" She did not answer. "It
illustrates," he went on, "the absurd importance we attach to ourselves.
The race would get itself clothed somehow, even as Church and State will
go on, although they fail to settle that question of the swallowing on
the top of the hill."

May alone was listening. "Don't you think it all makes any difference?"
she asked in a low voice.

"Not enough to stop enjoying one's self about, or to take any risks for."

"I disbelieve you with my whole heart and soul; and, what's more, you
don't believe yourself," she said. "To take risks is what we were given
life for, I believe."

"Whimsy-whamsies!" he jeered, jerking his thumb warningly towards Mrs.
Baxter.

To May it seemed curious how an utter absence of speculation and an
honest engrossment in everyday cares, hopes, and duties app