y when
the veteran Sub-Dean qualified himself for an obituary in the "Times,"
which she chanced upon and read before her mother had time to detect
and suppress it. Luckily, a reasonable economy of type had restricted
the names and designations of all the wives he had driven tandem, and
no more was said of his third than that she was Rosalind, the widow
of Paul Nightingale. So, as soon as Sally's mother had read the text
herself, she was able to say to the Major, quite undisturbedly, that
the old Sub-Dean had gone at last, leaving thirteen children. The name
Graythorpe had not crept in.

But we left Sally with a question unanswered. Didn't that show what
nonsense old Major Roper's story was? Laetitia was rather glad to
assent, and get the story quashed, or at least prorogued _sine die_.

"It did seem rather nonsense, Sally dear. Major Roper was a stupid old
man, and evidently took more than was good for him." Intoxicants are
often of great service in conversation.

In this case they contributed to the reinstatement of Mr. Bradshaw.
Dear me, it did seem so funny to Sally! Only the other day this young
man had been known to her on no other lines than as an established
fool, who came to stare at _her_ out of the corners of his dark eyes
all through the morning service at St. Satisfax. And now it was St.
John's, Ladbroke Grove Road, and, what was more, he was being tolerated
as a semi-visitor at the Wilsons'--a visitor with explanations in an
undertone. This was the burden of Laetitia, as soon as she had contrived
to get Sally's troublesome parent shelved.

"Why mamma needs always to be in such a furious fuss to drag in his
violin, I do _not_ know. As if he needed to be accounted for! Of
course, if you ask a Hottentot to evenings, you have to explain him.
But the office-staff at Cattley's (which is really one of the largest
firms in the country) are none of them Hottentots, but the contrary....
Now I know, dear, you're going to say what's the contrary of a
Hottentot, and all the while you know perfectly well what I mean."

"Cut away, Tishy! What next?"

"Well--next, don't you think it very dignified of Mr. Bradshaw to be
_able_ to be condescended to and explained in corners under people's
breaths and not to show it?"

"He's got to lump it, if he doesn't like it." Sally, you see, has
given up her admirer readily enough, but, as she herself afterwards
said, it's quite another pair of shoes when you're called on to give