judicious. She destroyed whatever chance there was of a sudden
_volte-face_ on its part--and oh, the glorious uncertainty of this
class of cat!--first by taking no notice of it aggressively, next
by catching hold of its tail, too late. In the art of ignoring
bystanders, she was no match for the cat. And detention seemed only
to communicate impetus.

Julius Bradshaw's first receptions at the Ladbroke Grove House had
been based mainly on his Stradivarius. The Dragon may be said to have
admitted the instrument, but only to have tolerated its owner, as one
might tolerate an organman who owned a distinguished monkey. Still, the
position was an ambiguous one. The Dragon felt she had made a mistake
in not shutting the door against this lion at first. She had "let
him in, to see if she could turn him out again," and the crisis of
the campaign had come over the question whether Mr. Bradshaw
might, or should, or could be received into the inner bosom of the
household--that is to say, the dinner-bosom. The Dragon said no--she
drew the line at that. Tea, yes--dinner, no!

After many small engagements over the question in the abstract, the
plot thickened with reference to the arrangements of a particular
Thursday evening. The Dragon felt that a decisive battle must be
fought; the more so that her son Egerton, whom she had relied on
to back her against a haberdasher, though he might have been useless
against a jockey or a professional cricketer, had gone over to the
enemy, and announced (for the Professor had failed to communicate
the virus of scholarship to this young man) that he was unanimous
that Mr. Bradshaw should be forthwith invited to dinner.

His mother resorted to the head of the household as to a Court of
Appeal, but not, as we think, in a manner likely to be effective. Her
natural desire to avenge herself on that magazine of learning for
marrying her produced an unconciliatory tone, even in her preamble.

"I suppose," she said, abruptly entering his library in the vital
centre of a delectable refutation of an ignoramus--"I suppose it's no
use looking to you for sympathy in a matter of this sort, but----"

"I'm busy," said the Professor; "wouldn't some other time do as well?"

"I knew what I had to expect!" said the lady, at once allowing her
desire to embitter her relations with her husband to get the better
of her interest in the measure she desired to pass through Parliament.
She left the room, closing the door a