d--coming from the bath--after Henriette went away."

"I did say my mother, dear. But I wish it were otherwise. I've told
Mr. Bradshaw so."

"You'd be much nicer if you said Julius. Told him what?"

"Told him a girl can't run counter to the wishes of her family in
practice. Of course, M--well, then, Julius, if you will have it--is
ready to wait. But it's really ridiculous to talk in this way, when,
after all, nothing's been said."

"_Has_ nothing?"

"Not _to_ anybody. Only him and me."

"At Riverfordhook?"

"Why, yes, what I told you. We needn't go over it again."

"In the avenue. And moonrise and things. What o'clock was it, please,
ma'am?"

"About ten-fifteen, dear. We were in by eleven." This was a faint
attempt to help dignity by a parade of accuracy in figures, and an
affectation of effrontery. "But really we needn't go over it again. You
know what a nice letter he wrote Aunt Frances?" And instead of waiting
for an answer, Tishy, perhaps to avoid catechism about the moonrise and
things, ploughs straight on into a recitation of her lover's letter to
her aunt: "Dear Lady Sales--Of course it will (quite literally) give me
the _greatest possible_ pleasure to come. I will bring the Strad"; and
then afterwards he said: "I hope your niece will give a full account
of me, and not draw any veils over my social position. However, this
being written at my desk here on the shop-paper will prevent any
misunderstanding."

"Your Aunt Frances has been hatching you--you two!" says Sally,
ignoring the letter.

"She is a dear good woman, if ever there was one. I wish mamma was my
aunt-by-marriage, and she her!" And then Laetitia went on to tell many
things about the present position of the "row" between herself and her
mother, concerning which it can only be said that nothing transpired
that justified its existence. Seeing that no recognition was asked for
of any formal engagement either by the "young haberdasher" himself--for
that was the epithet applied to him (behind his back, of course) by
the older lady--or by the object of his ambitious aspirations, it might
have been more politic, as well as more graceful, on her part, to leave
the affair to die down, as love-affairs unopposed are so very apt to
do. Instead of which she needs must begin endeavouring to frustrate
what at the time of her first interference was the merest flirtation
between a Romeo who was tied to a desk all day, and a Juliet who was
constantly comi