that my son-in-law's nerves going away
was, or were, a little galvanic battery...."

"Dear papa, don't paradox and catch me out. Just this once, be
reasonable! Think what a glorious thing it would be for us if his
nerves _had_ gone for good. Another cup? Was the last one right?"

"My position is peculiar. (Yes, the tea was all right.) I find
myself requested to be reasonable, and to embark on a career
of reasonableness by considering the substantial advantages to
my daughter and her husband of the disappearance of his nervous
system...."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't! _Do_ be serious...." The Professor looked
at her reflectively as he drank the cup of tea, and it seemed to dawn
on him slowly that his daughter _was_ serious. The fact is, Tishy was
very serious indeed, and was longing for sympathy over a matter for
great elation. She and Julius had been purposely playing continuously
for long hours to test the apparent suspension or cessation of his
nervous affection, and had not so far seen a sign of a return; but
they were dreadfully afraid of counting their chickens in advance.

"I noticed the other evening"--the Professor has surrendered, and
become serious--"that Julius wasn't any the worse, and he had played
a long time. What should you do?" Tishy looked inquiringly. "Well,
I mean what steps could be taken if it were...?"

"If we could trust to it? Oh, no difficulty at all! Any number of
engagements directly."

"It would please your mother." Tishy cannot help a passing thought
on the oddity of her parents' relations to one another. Even though
he spoke of the Dragon as a connexion of his daughter he was but
little concerned with, the first thought that crossed his mind was
a sort of satisfaction under protest that she would have something
to be pleased about. Tishy wondered whether she and Julius would
end up like that. Of course they wouldn't! What pity people's
parents were so unreasonable!

"Yes; mamma wouldn't be at all sorry. Fiddlers are not Baronets, but
anything is better than haberdashing. _I'm_ not ashamed of it, you
know." She had subjected herself gratuitously to her own suspicion
that she might be, and resented it.

Her father looked at her with an amused face; looked down at these
social fads of poor humanity from the height of his Olympus. If he
knew anything about the Unionist Home Ruler's aspirations for Laetitia,
he said nothing. Then he asked a natural question--what _was_ the
little galvan