ng, you know, but I think you are one of the rudest people I ever
met. I wish you would let me alone."

"Ah! Why didn't you leave me alone?" says he, with a sigh that would
have set a furnace ablaze. "However!" with a noble determination to
overcome his grief. "Let the past lie. You want to go and meet Dysart,
isn't that it? And I'll go and meet him with you. Could self-sacrifice
further go? 'Jim along Josy,' no doubt he is at the upper gate by this
time, flying on the wings of love."

"He is not," says Joyce; "and I wish once for all, Dicky, that you
wouldn't call me 'Josy.' 'Jocelyne' is bad enough, but 'Josy!' And I'm
not going to 'jim' anywhere, and certainly"--with strong
determination--"not with you." She looks at him with sudden curiosity.
"What brought you here to-day?" asks she, most inhospitably it must be
confessed.

"What brings me here every day? To see the unkindest girl in the world."

"She doesn't live here," says Miss Kavanagh. "Dicky"--changing her tone
suddenly and looking at him with earnest eyes. "What is this I hear
about Lady Baltimore and her husband? Be sensible now, do, and tell me."

"They're going abroad together--with Bertie. They've made it up," says
he, growing as sensible as even she can desire. "It is such a complete
make up all round that they didn't even ask me to go with them. However,
I'm determined to join them at Nice on their return from Egypt. Too much
billing and cooing is bad for people."

"I'm so glad," says Joyce, her eyes filling with tears. "They are two
such dear people, and if it hadn't been for Lady--By the by, where is
Lady Swansdown?"

"Russia, I think."

"Well, I liked her, too," says Joyce, with a sigh; "but she wasn't good
for Baltimore, was she?"

"Not very!" says Mr. Browne, dryly. "I should say, on the whole, that
she disagreed with him. Tonics are sometimes dangerous."

"I'm so delighted," says Joyce, still thinking of Lady Baltimore.
"Well," smiling at him, "why don't you go in and see Barbara?"

"I have seen her, talked with her a long while, and bid her adieu. I was
on my way back to the Court, having failed in my hope of seeing you,
when I found this delightful nest of earwigs, and thought I'd stay and
confabulate with them a while in default of better companions."

"Poor Dicky!" says she. "Come with me, then, and I'll talk to you for
half an hour."

"Too late!" says he, looking at his watch. "There is only one thing left
me now to, say to yo