king with some excitement; "you are talking about what you do
not know! you are quite wrong."

"Well, it is not the first time in my life that I have been that," he
says, philosophically; "but come--who did you the Christian office of
interrupting it? tell us."

"I told you in my letters," say I, rather petulantly. "I certainly
mentioned--yes, I know I did--we happened at Dresden to fall in with a
friend of the general's--at least, a person he knew."

"A person he knew? What kind of a person? Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Old or young?"

"Young."

"Ugly or pretty?"

"Pretty," answer I, laughing. "Ah! what a rage he would be in, if he
could hear such an epithet applied to him!"

"A young, well-looking, man-friend!" says Algy, slowly recapitulating
all my admissions as he lies gently puffing on the rug beside me.
"Well?"

"_Well!_" echo I, rather snappishly. "Nothing! only that I wanted to
show you that it was not quite such a _duet_ as you imagined! Of
course--Dresden is not a big place--of course we met very often, and
went here and there together."

"And where was Sir Roger meanwhile?"

"Sir Roger was there, too, of course," reply I, still a little crossly,
"except once or twice--certainly not more than twice--he said he did
not feel inclined to come, and so we went without him."

"You left him at home, in fact!" says Algy, with a rather malicious
smile, "out of harm's way, while you and the young friend marauded about
the town together; it must have been very lively for him, poor man! Oh,
fie! Nancy, fie!"

"We did not do any thing of the kind," cry I, now thoroughly vexed and
uncomfortable. "I wish you would not misunderstand things on purpose!
there is not any fun in it! _Both_ times I _wanted_ him to come! I
_asked_ him particularly!"

"And, if I may make so bold as to inquire," asks Bobby, striking in,
"how did the young friend call himself? What was his name?"

"Musgrave," reply I, shortly. "Frank Musgrave!" for the stream of my
conversation seems dried.

"Was he _nice_? Should _we_ like him?" ask Tou Tou, who has recovered
her equanimity, dried her tears, and forgotten the bishop.

"He was nice _to look at_!" reply I cautiously.

"That is a very different thing!" says Barbara, laughing. "But was he
nice in himself?"

I reflect.

"No," say I, "I do not think he was: at least, he wanted a great deal of
alteration."

"As I have no doubt that you told him," says Algy, with a smile.

"I da