y--and how, for once in his life, Owen Kelly feels
melancholy that is not assumed.

"I wish you would all attend," says Olga Bohun, just a little
impatiently, looking round upon the assembled group, with brows uplifted
and the point of a pencil thrust between her rose-red lips.

"Thrice-blessed pencil!" murmurs Mr. Kelly, in a _very_ stage whisper.
"Man is the superior being, yet he would not be permitted to occupy so
exalted a position. Are you a stone, Ronayne, that you can regard the
situation with such an insensate face?" Mr. Ronayne is at this moment
gazing at Mrs. Bohun with all his heart in his eyes. He starts and
colors. "I cannot help thinking of that dear little song about the
innocent daisy," goes on Mr. Kelly, with a rapt expression. "But I'd
'choose to be a _pencil_, if I might be a flower.'"

"Now _do_ let us decide upon something," says Olga, taking no heed of
this sally, and frowning down the smile that is fighting for mastery.

"Yes; now you are all to decide upon something at once," says Mr. Kelly,
gloomily. "There is a difficulty about the right way to begin it, but it
must be done; Mrs. Bohun says so. There is to be no deception. I shall
say one, two, three, and away, and then every one must have decided: the
defaulter will be spurned from the gates. Now, one, two----Desmond,"
sternly "you are not deciding!"

"I am, indeed," says Desmond, most untruthfully. He is lying on the
grass at Monica's feet, and is playing idly with her huge white fan.

"You are not doing it properly. I daresay Miss Beresford is making you
uncomfortable; and I am sure you are trying to break her fan. Come over
here and sit by me, and you will be much happier."

"Penance is good for the soul. I shall stay here," says Desmond.

"If we mean to get up tableaux, we certainly ought to set about them at
once," says Herrick, indolently.

"There doesn't seem to be any work in anybody," says Olga, in despair.

"Try me," says Lord Rossmoyne, bending over her chair. He has only just
come, and his arrival has been unannounced.

"Ah! _thank_ you!"--with a brilliant smile. "Now you _do_ look like
business."

It is Monday, and four o'clock. Aghyohillbeg lying basking in the
sunshine is looking its loveliest,--which is saying a great deal. The
heat is so intense on this sweet July day that every one has deserted
the house and come out to find some air,--a difficulty. They have tried
the grass terraces, in vain, and now have c