s adorable and attractive in anything and in any
way.

I believe they do not love one another very much, although they are
quite friendly; one somehow can see it in their eyes.

The Tilchester boy, who is thirteen, has just gone to Eton, but will
soon be home for the holidays; the little girl is at the sea. So I
have not seen either of them.

The whole house here is so beautifully done; there is no fuss, and
everything is exactly where one wants to find it. I shall be sorry
when we leave.

Just as we had begun luncheon to-day, Sir Antony Thornhirst came in,
and, after a casual greeting to every one, sat down near me.

He seems quite at home here, and as if he were accustomed to turning
up unannounced in this way.

I felt such a queer, quick beating in my heart. I suppose because
among all these strangers he was some one I knew before.

"So you decided not to cut the Gordian knot," he said, presently, as
if we were continuing the discussion of some argument we had had a
moment before.

He bridged in an instant the great gulf since my wedding. This _sang
froid_ stupefied me. I found nothing to say.

He continued:

"Do you know, I have heard since that to give any one a knife cuts
friendship, and brings bad luck and separation, and numbers of
dreadful things. So you and I are now declared enemies, I suppose.
Shall we go and throw the little ill-omen in the lake after lunch?"

"No; I will not part with my knife; I find it very useful," I said,
in a _bete_ way.

"Antony," called out Lord Tilchester, "you have arrived in the nick of
time to save Babykins from turning into a hospital nurse. She thinks
the costume becoming, and threatens to leave us for the wounded
heroes. Cannot you restrain her?"

"How?" asked Sir Antony, helping himself to some chicken curry.
"Really excellent curry your chef makes, Tilchester."

"Don't tell him about it, Reggie," lisped Mrs. Parton-Mills. "The
unfeeling creature is only thinking of his food."

"You seem to have all the qualities for an ideal convalescent nurse,"
said Sir Antony, with an air of detaching himself with difficulty from
the contemplation of the curry.

"And those qualities are--?" asked Lord Tilchester.

"Principally stimulating," and he selected a special chutney from the
various kinds a footman was handing.

"What do you mean?" demanded Babykins, pouting.

"Exactly what you do," and he looked at her, smiling in a way I should
have said was insolent ha