refreshed, to see how her guests are getting on.

"Well, I hope you're all happy," she says, jovially.

"We are mad with perplexity," says Olga.

"What's the matter, then, darling?" says Madam. "Hermia, like a good
child, go and pour out the tea."

"I'll tell you all about it," says Brian, who is a special favorite of
Madam O'Connor's, coming over to her and stopping behind her chair to
whisper into her ear.

Whatever he says makes her laugh immoderately. It is easy to bring
smiles to her lips at any time,--her heart having kept at a standstill
whilst her body grew old,--but now she seems particularly fetched.

"Yes, yes, my dear Olga, let them have their own way," she says merrily.

"Very good. Let us consider it settled," says Mrs. Bohun. "But I
_should_ like some tableaux afterwards, as a wind-up."

"Yes, certainly," says Ronayne. "What do you think, Madam?"

"I have set my mind on them," says his old hostess, gayly. "You are
such a handsome boy, Ulic, that I'm bent on seeing you in fancy clothes;
and so is somebody else, I daresay. Look at the children, how they steal
towards us; were there ever such demure little mice? Come here, Georgie,
my son, I have peaches and pretty things for you."

The kind old soul holds out her arms to two beautiful children, a boy
and a girl, who are coming slowly, shyly towards her. They are so like
Hermia Herrick as to be unmistakably hers. The boy, coming straight to
Madame O'Connor, climbs up on her lap and lays his bonny cheek against
hers; but the girl, running to her mother, who is busy over the
tea-tray, nestles close to her.

"Gently, my soul," say Hermia, in a soft whisper. Though she still
calmly pours out the tea, with Kelly beside her, she lets the unoccupied
hand fall, to mingle with the golden tresses of the child. As her hand
meets the little sunny head, a marvellous sweetness creeps into her face
and transfixes it to a heavenly beauty. Kelly, watching her, marks the
change.

Going round to the child, he would have taken her in his arms,--as is
his habit with most children, being a special favorite in every nursery;
but this little dame, drawing back from him, repels him coldly. Then, as
though fearing herself ungracious, she slowly extends to him a tiny,
friendly hand, which he accepts. The likeness between this grave baby
and her graver mother is so remarkable as to be almost ludicrous.

"I think you haven't given Mr. Kelly even one kiss to-day," says her