t
to; but he will any time Tishy gives a hint. Meanwhile Goody Wilson has
refused to sanction his visits at the house, and Laetitia has said she
will go into lodgings."

"Sally darling, I do wish you wouldn't call all the married ladies of
your acquaintance _Goody_. You'll do it some day to their faces."

"It's only the middle-aged bouncers."

"Well, dear chick, do try and not call them Goody. What did Goo--there!
I was going to do it myself. What did Mrs. Wilson say to that?"

"Said Tishy's allowance wouldn't cover lodgings, and she had nothing
else to fall back on. So we go into the Park instead."

Even Mrs. Fenwick's habituation to her daughter's incisive method is no
proof against this. She breaks into an affectionate laugh, and kisses
its provoker, who protests.

"We-e-ell! There's nothing in _that_. We have tea in the shilling
places under the trees in Kensington Gardens. _That's_ all right."

"Of course that's all right--with a _chaperon_ like you! Who _could_
say anything? But do tell me, Sally darling, does Mrs. Wilson dislike
this young man on his own account, or is it only the shop?"

"Only the shop, I do believe. And Tishy's twenty-four! What _is_ my
stepfather sitting smiling at there in that contented way? Is that
a Mossoo cigar? It smells very nice."

"I was smiling at you, Sarah. No, it's not a Mossoo that I know of. A
German Baron gave it me.... No, dearest! It really _was_ all right....
No--I really can't exactly say how; but it _was_ all right for all
that...." This was in answer to a comment of his wife.

"Never mind the German Baron," Sally interrupts. "What business have
you to smile at me, Jeremiah?" They had christened each other Jeremiah
and Sarah for working purposes.

"Because I chose--because you're such a funny little article." He comes
a little nearer to her, and putting his arm round her neck, pinches her
off-cheek. She gives him a very short kiss--hardly a real one--just an
acknowledgment. He remains with her little white hand in his great
hairy one, and she leans against him and accepts the position. But that
cigar is on her mother's mind.

"How many did he give you, Gerry? Now tell the truth."

"He gave me a lot. I smuggled them. I can't tell you _why_ it seemed
all right I should accept them. But it _did_."

"I suppose you know best, dear. Men are men, and I'm a female. But he
was such a perfect stranger." She, of course, knew quite well that he
was not, but there was