offends everybody. You thought her abominable?"

"Oh no. I only thought her vulgar," says Mrs. Monkton. It is the one
revenge she permits herself. Monkton breaks into an irresistible laugh.

"It isn't perfect; it couldn't be unless she heard you," says he. The
cab has come up now, and he puts in the children and then his wife,
finally himself.

"Tommy crowns all!" says he with a retrospective smile.

"Eh?" says Tommy, who has the ears of a Midas.

"Your father says you are a social success, and so does your mother,"
says Barbara, smiling at the child's puzzled face, and then giving him a
loving little embrace.

CHAPTER XXXV.

"Why should two hearts in one breast lie
And yet not lodge together?
Oh, love! where is thy sympathy
If thus our breasts you sever?"

"Well, did you like the gallery?" asks Mrs. Monkton, throwing aside her
book to greet Joyce as she returns from Dore's. It is next day, and
Barbara had let the girl go to see the pictures without telling her of
her meeting with Felix the evening before; she had been afraid to say
anything about him lest that guilty secret of hers might transpire--that
deliberate betrayal of Joyce's intended visit to Bond street on the
morrow. If Joyce had heard that, she would, in all probability, have
deferred her going there for ever--and--it was such a chance. Mrs.
Monkton, who, in her time, had said so many hard words about match
makers, as most women have, and who would have scorned to be classed
with them, had promoted and desired this meeting of Felix and Joyce with
all the energy and enthusiasm of which she was capable But that Joyce
should suspect her of the truth is a fear that terrifies her.

"Very much. So did Tommy. He is very graphic in his remarks," says
Joyce, sinking listlessly into a chair, and taking off her hat. She
looks vexed and preoccupied. "I think he gave several very original
ideas on the subjects of the pictures to those around. They seemed
impressed. You know how far above the foolish feeling, _mauvaise honte_,
he is; his voice 'like a silver clarion rung.' Excelsior was outdone.
Everybody turned and looked at him with----"

"I hope he wasn't noisy," says Mrs. Monkton, nervously.

"With admiration, I was going to say, but you wouldn't let me finish my
sentence. Oh, yes, he was quite a success. One old gentleman wanted to
know if he would accept the part of art critic on his paper. It was very
exciting." She leans