't have the
cat that Lady Baltimore will give you, you must only try to put up with
mine."

"Poor Lady Baltimore!" lisps Mrs. Blake. "What a great deal she has to
endure."

"Oh, she's all right to-day," returns Mr. Browne, cheerfully. "Toothache
any amount better this morning."

Mrs. Blake laughs in a little mincing way.

"How droll you are," says she. "Ah! if it were only toothache that was
the matter But--" silence very effective, and a profound sigh.

"Toothache's good enough for me," says Dicky. "I should never dream of
asking for more." He glances here at Joyce, and continues sotto voce,
"You look as if you had it."

"No," returns she innocently. "Mine is neuralgia. A rather worse thing,
after all."

"Yes. You can get the tooth out," says he.

"Have you heard," asks Mrs. Blake, "that Mr. Beauclerk is going to marry
that hideous Miss Maliphant. Horrid Manchester person, don't you know!
Can't think what Lady Baltimore sees in her"--with a giggle--"her want
of beauty. Got rather too much of pretty women I should say."

"I'm really afraid," says Dicky, "that somebody has been hoaxing you
this time, Mrs. Blake;" genially. "I happen to know for a fact that Miss
Maliphant is not going to marry Beauclerk."

"Indeed!" snappishly. "Ah, well really he is to be congratulated, I
think. Perhaps," with a sharp glance at Joyce, "I mistook the name of
the young lady; I certainly heard he was going to be married."

"So am I,"' says Mr. Browne, "some time or other; we are all going to
get married one day or another. One day, indeed, is as good as another.
You have set us such a capital example that we're safe to follow it."

Mr. and Mrs. Blake being a notoriously unhappy couple, the latter grows
rather red here; and Joyce gives Dicky a reproachful glance, which he
returns with one of the wildest bewilderment. What can she mean?

"Mr. Dysart will be a distinct loss when he goes to India," continues
Mrs. Blake quickly. "Won't be back for years, I hear, and leaving so
soon, too. A disappointment, I'm told! Some obdurate fair one! Sort of
chest affection, don't you know, ha-ha! India's place for that sort of
thing. Knock it out of him in no time. Thought he looked rather down in
the mouth last night. Not up to much lately, it has struck me. Seen much
of him this time, Miss Kavanagh?"

"Yes. A good deal," says Joyce, who has, however, paled perceptibly.

"Thought him rather gone to seed, eh? Rather the worse for wear."