.

"Have you nearly done your shopping?" asks my companion, presently.

"Very nearly."

"What do you say to taking a tour through the gallery?" he says, "or are
you sick of the pictures?"

"Far from it," say I, briskly, "but, all the same, I cannot do it; I am
going back at once to Sir Roger; we are to drive to Loschwitz: I only
came out for a little prowl by myself, to think about father's present!
Sir Roger cannot help me at all," I continue, marching off again into
the theme which is uppermost in my thoughts. "_He_ suggested a
traveling-bag, but I know that father would _hate_ that."

"To _drive_! this time of day!" cried Mr. Musgrave, in a tone of extreme
disapprobation; "will not you get well baked?"

"I dare say," I answer, absently; then, in a low tone to myself, "_why_
does not he smoke? it would be so easy then--a smoking-cap, a
tobacco-pouch, a cigar-holder, a hundred things!"

"Is it _quite_ settled about Loschwitz?" asks the young man, with an air
of indifference.

"Quite," say I, still not thinking of what I am saying. "That is,
no--not quite--nearly--a bag _is_ useful, you know."

"I passed the Saxe just now," he says, giving his hat a little tilt over
his nose, "and saw Sir Roger sitting in the balcony, with his cigar and
his _Times_, and he looked so luxuriously comfortable that it seemed a
sin to disturb him. Do not you think, taking the dust and the
blue-bottles into consideration, that it would be kinder to leave him in
peace in his arm-chair?"

"No, I do not," reply I, flatly. "I suppose he knows best what he likes
himself; and why a strong, hearty man in the prime of life should be
supposed to wish to spend a whole summer afternoon nodding in an
arm-chair, any more than you would wish it yourself, I am at a loss to
inquire!" The suggestion has irritated me so much that for the moment I
forget the traveling-bag.

"When I am as old as he," replies the young man, coldly, shaking the ash
off his cigar, "if I ever am, which I doubt, and have knocked about the
world for as many years, and imperiled my liver in as many climates, and
sent as many Russians, and Chinamen, and Sikhs to glory as he has, I
shall think myself entitled to sit in an arm-chair--yes, and sleep in it
too--all day, if I feel inclined."

I do not answer, partly because I am exasperated, partly because at this
moment my eye is caught by an object in a shop-window--a traveling-bag,
with its mouth invitingly open, displaying