o be petted."

"What extraordinary ideas you have, mother!" laughed Brook. "But on
general principles I don't see why I shouldn't marry Miss Bowring, if
she'll have me. Why not? Her father was a gentleman, you like her
mother, and as for herself--"

"Oh, I've nothing against her. It's all against you, Brook dear. You are
such a dreadful flirt, you know! You'll get tired of the poor girl and
make her miserable. I'm sure she isn't practical, as I am. The very
first time you look at some one else she'll get on a tragic horse and
charge the crockery--and there will be a most awful smash! It's not easy
to manage you Johnstones when you think you are in love. I ought to
know!"

"I say, mother," said Brook, "has anybody been telling you stories
about me lately?"

"Lately? Let me see. The last I heard was that Mrs. Crosby--the one you
all call Lady Fan--was going to get a divorce so as to marry you."

"Oh--you heard that, did you?"

"Yes--everybody was talking about it and asking me whether it was true.
It seems that she was with that party that brought you here. She left
them at Naples, and came home at once by land, and they said she was
giving out that she meant to marry you. I laughed, of course. But people
wouldn't talk about you so much, dear boy, if there were not so much to
talk about. I know that you would never do anything so idiotic as that,
and if Mrs. Crosby chooses to flirt with you, that's her affair. She's
older than you, and knows more about it. But this is quite another
thing. This is serious. You sha'n't make love to that nice girl, Brook.
You sha'n't! I'll do something dreadful, if you do. I'll tell her all
about Mrs. Leo Cairngorm or somebody like that. But you sha'n't marry
her and ruin her life."

"You're going in for philanthropy, mother," said Brook, growing red.
"It's something new. You never made a fuss before."

"No, of course not. You never were so foolish before, my dear boy. I'm
not bad myself, I believe. But you are, every one of you, and I love you
all, and the only way to do anything with you is to let you run wild a
little first. It's the only practical, sensible way. And you've only
just begun--how in the world do you dare to think of marrying? Upon my
word, it's too bad. I won't wait. I'll frighten the girl to death with
stories about you, until she refuses to speak to you! But I've taken a
fancy to her mother, and you sha'n't make the child miserable. You
sha'n't, Brook. Oh, I've