's angry eye seemed to
say.

"I remember him," pursued Jack; "awfully smitten with a tobacconist's
daughter in the Corn--oh, it's all RIGHT, Lady Queenborough--she
wouldn't look at him."

This quasi apology was called forth by the fact of Lady Queenborough
pushing back her chair and making for the door. It did not at all
appease her to hear of the scorn of the tobacconist's daughter. She
glanced sternly at Jack and disappeared. He turned to Trix and
reminded her--without diffidence and coram populo, as his habit
was--that she had promised him a stroll in the west wood.

What happened on that stroll I do not know; but meeting Miss Trix on
the stairs later in the afternoon, I ventured to remark:

"I hope you broke it to him gently, Miss Queenborough?"

"I don't know what you mean," replied Trix haughtily.

"You were out nearly two hours," said I.

"Were we?" asked Trix, with a start. "Good gracious! Where was mamma,
Mr. Wynne?"

"On the lawn--watch in hand."

Miss Trix went slowly upstairs, and there is not the least doubt that
something serious passed between her and her mother, for both of them
were in the most atrocious of humors that evening. Fortunately, the
curate was not there; he had a Bible class.

The next day Lord Newhaven arrived. I found him on the lawn when I
strolled up, after a spell of letter-writing, about four o'clock. Lawn
tennis was the order of the day, and we were all in flannels.

"Oh, here's Mark!" cried Dora, seeing me. "Now, Mark, you and Mr. Ives
had better play against Trix and Lord Newhaven. That'll make a very
good set."

"No, no, Mrs. Polton," said Jack Ives. "They wouldn't have a chance.
Look here, I'll play with Miss Queenborough against Lord Newhaven and
Wynne."

Newhaven--whose appearance, by the way, though hardly distinguished,
was not quite so unornamental as the curate had led us to
expect--looked slightly displeased, but Jack gave him no time for
remonstrance. He whisked Trix off and began to serve all in a moment.
I had a vision of Lady Queenborough approaching from the house with
face aghast. The set went on; and, owing entirely to Newhaven's absurd
chivalry in sending all the balls to Jack Ives instead of following the
well-known maxim to "pound away at the lady," they beat us. Jack wiped
his brow, strolled up to the tea table with Trix, and remarked in
exultant tones:

"We make a perfect couple, Miss Queenborough; we ought never to be
separated.