f course there are
noble exceptions to every rule. I am the noble exception here. I don't
feel in the least annoyed with you. Now do try some brandy, my dear
fellow: it will do you all the good in the world."

"I don't know this moment whether _you_ are laughing at me or not," says
the marine, eying him doubtfully.

"I _never_ laugh," says Mr. Kelly, reproachfully. "I thought _even you_
could see that. Well, will you have that B. and S.?"

But Mars is huffed, and declines to accept consolation in any shape. He
strolls away with an injured air to where his brother officer, Captain
Cobbett, is standing near the hall door, and pours his griefs into his
ears. Captain Cobbett being a very spare little man, with a half starved
appearance and a dismal expression, it is doubtful whether poor Ryde
receives from him the amount of sympathy required.

"Well," says Madam O'Connor, turning round as she sees him disappear,
and addressing the three or four people round her generally, "'pon me
conscience, that's the silliest young man I ever met in my life!" When
disturbed, elated, or distressed, Madam O'Connor always says, "'Pon me
conscience!"

"Don't be hard upon him," says Mr. Kelly, kindly. "Though very mad, he
is _quite_ harmless!"

"He plays tennis very well," says Miss Fitzgerald, the tall girl. "So
nice, isn't it? to have these ancient games reproduced!" This with the
learned air of one who could say more if she would.

"_Ancient?_" says Madam O'Connor. "Faith, I thought it was a game of
yesterday."

"Oh, dear, no!" says the erudite Bella, with a lenient smile. "Tennis
was first brought from France to England in the reign of Charles the
Second."

"There now, Miss Beresford, don't forget that," says Madam O'Connor,
turning to Monica with an amused smile: "it is essential you should
remember it, as it is part of one's education." After which she moves
away towards some other guests, having said all she has to say to those
near her.

"May I see you to your carriage, Miss Blake?" says Desmond, finding she
and Miss Penelope are bent on going; and Aunt Priscilla, who has taken
quite a fancy to this strange young man, gives her gracious permission
that he shall accompany them to the fossilized chariot awaiting them.

"Who is he, my dear Priscilla?" asks Miss Penelope, in a stage whisper,
as they go.

"Don't know, my dear, but a vastly agreeable young man, very superior to
those of his own age of the present day. He is