"I think him always very agreeable," says Joyce, icily.

A second most uncomfortable silence ensues. Barbara tries to get up a
conversation with Mr. Courtenay, but that person, never brilliant at any
time, seems now stricken with dumbness. Into this awkward abyss Mabel
plunges this time. Evidently she has been dwelling secretly on Tommy's
comments on their own cat, and is therefore full of thought about that
interesting animal.

"Our cat is going to have chickens!" says she, with all the air of one
who is imparting exciting intelligence.

This astounding piece of natural history is received with varied
emotions by the listeners. Mr. Browne, however, is unfeignedly charmed
with it, and grows as enthusiastic about it as even Mabel can desire.

"You don't say so! When? Where?" demands he with breathless eagerness.

"Don't know," says Mabel seriously. "Last time 'twas in nurse's best
bonnet; but," raising her sweet face to his, "she says she'll be blowed
if she has them there this time!"

"Mabel!" cries her mother, crimson with mortification.

"Yes?" asked Mabel, sweetly.

But it is too much for every one. Even Mrs. Blake gives way for once to
honest mirth, and under cover of the laughter rises and takes her
departure, rather glad of the excuse to get away. She carries off Mr.
Courtenay.

Dicky having lingered a little while to see that Mabel isn't scolded,
goes too; and Barbara, with a sense of relief, turns to Joyce.

"You look so awful tired," says she. "Why don't you go and lie down?"

"I thought, on the contrary, I should like to go out for a walk," says
Joyce indifferently. "I confess my head is aching horribly. And that
woman only made me worse."

"What a woman! I wonder she told so many lies. I wonder if----"

"If Mr. Dysart is going to India," supplies Joyce calmly. "Very likely.
Why not. Most men in the army go to India."

"True," say Mrs. Monkton with a sigh. Then in a low tone: "I shall be
sorry for him."

"Why? If he goes"--coldly--"it is by his own desire. I see nothing to be
sorry about."

"Oh, I do," says Barbara. And then, "Well, go out, dearest. The air will
do you good."

CHAPTER L.

"'Tis with our judgment as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own."

Lord Baltimore had not spoken in a mere fit or pique when he told Lady
Swansdown of his fixed intention of putting a term to his present life.
His last interview with his wife had quite decided hi