on a musical occasion at Ladbroke Grove Road that this conversation
took place.

Laetitia wasn't going to deny Dr. Vereker, evidently, or else there
really was something very engrossing about her G string. Sally went on,
while she dog's-eared her music, which was new, to get good turning-over
advantages when it came to playing.

"My medical adviser's not bad, taken as an aunt. I don't quite know
what I should do without poor Prosy. But as for anything, of course
that's absurd. Why, half the fun is that there _isn't_ anything!"

Laetitia knew as well as possible that her young friend, once started,
would develop the subject on her own lines without further help from
her. She furnished her face with a faint expression of amused waiting,
not strong enough to be indictable, but operative, and said never
a word.

"Foolery would spoil it all," pursued Sally; "in fact, I put my
foot down at the first go-off. I pointed out that I stipulated to
be considered a chap. Prosy showed tact--I must say that for
Prosy--distinctly tact. You see, if I had had to say a single word
to him on the subject, it would have been all up." Then possibly,
in response to a threat of an inflexion in her friend's waiting
countenance, "I should say, when I make use of the expression 'pointed
out,' perhaps I ought to say 'conveyed to him.'" Sally gets the viola
in place for a start, and asks is her friend ready? Waiting, it seems;
so she merely adds, "Yes, I should say conveyed it to him." And off
they go with the new piece of music in B flat, and are soon involved in
terrifying complications which have to be done all over again. At the
end, they are ungrateful to B flat, and say they don't care much for
it; it will be better when they can play it, however. Then Laetitia
schemes to wind Sally up a little.

"Doesn't the Goody goozle at you about him, though? You said she did."

"The Goody--oh yes! (By-the-bye, mother says I mustn't call your ma
Goody Wilson, or I shall do it to her face, and there'll be a pretty
how-do-you-do.) Prosy's parent broods over one, and gloats as if one
was crumpets; but Prosy himself is very good about her--aware of her
shortcomings."

"I don't care what you call _my_ mother. Call her any name you like.
But what does Dr. Vereker say?"

"About his'n? Says she's a dear good mother, and I mustn't mind her.
I say, Tishy!"

"What, dear?"

"What _is_ the present position of the row? You said your mother. You
know you di