on all day, and you lose it. Conscientiously,
because the pier-company often left its side-gate open, and relied
on public spirit to acquiesce in its turnstile without dispute.

But Bradshaw has the misfortune to fall in Nurse's good opinion. For
he asks who the important-looking party is, and is called to order.

"Sh-sh-iii-sh, love! Do take care! Gwenny's mamma--Mrs. Chesterfield
Arkwright. They've a house at Boxley Heath--friends of the Hugh
Jameses--those very high-flying people." This is not _a pleine voix_,
and a well-disciplined Nurse knows better than to hear it.

Miss Gwenny and dolly consent to accompany the lady and gentleman to
meet the party, the former undertaking to point out her mamma. "I sail
sow you wiss," she says; and then gives descriptive particulars of
the conduct of the galvanic battery, and forecasts its effect on dolly.

"There's that dear little pet," says Sally; and resumes the operation
of spoiling the little pet on the spot. She isn't sorry to tally the
pet (whose phonetics we employ) "dest wunced round the p on her
soulders, only zis wunced." She is a little silent, is Sally, and
preoccupied--perhaps won't object to a romp to divert her thoughts.
Because she is afraid poor Prosy is in the tentacles of the Octopus.
She evidently is not in love with him; if she were she would be
feeling piqued at his not being in time to the appointment, not
fidgeting about his losing the fun. She made some parade, at any rate,
of her misgivings that poor Dr. Conrad had got hooked by his Goody,
and would be late. If she _was_ piqued she concealed it. Whichever
it was, she found it congenial to "tally" Miss Arkwright on her
"soulders" twiced round the pier-end before the party arrived within
range of the battery. They meanwhile--that is to say, Rosalind and her
husband, Laetitia and hers, with Sally and Gwenny's mamma--lingered
slowly along the pier listening to the experiences of the latter, of
men, women, and things among the right sort of people.

"You really never know, and one cannot be too careful. So much turns
on the sort of people you let your daughter get mixed up with. I'm
sure Mrs. Fenwick will agree with me that Mrs. Hugh James was right.
You see, I've known her from a child, and a more unworldly creature
never breathed. But she asked me, and I could only say what I did:
'Take the child at once to Paris and Ems and Wiesbaden--anywhere for
a change. Even a tradesman is better than a profession