all your life ma'am.'

Vera dismissed Louisa.

There it was--the dream! They were going to box. Mr Bittenger was
doubtless an expert, and she knew that Stephen was not. A chance blow
by Mr Bittenger in some vital part, and Stephen would be lying
stretched in eternal stillness in the middle of the dining-room floor
where the table ought to be! The life of the monster was at stake! The
life of the brute was in her hands! The dream was fulfilling itself to
the point of tragedy!

She jumped up and rushed to the dining-room door. It would not open.
Again, the dream!

'You can't come in,' cried Stephen, laughing. 'Wait a bit.'

She pushed against the door, working the handle.

She was about to insist upon the door being opened, when the idea of
the danger of such a proceeding occurred to her. In the dream, when she
got the door opened, her husband's death had already happened!

Frantically she ran to the kitchen.

'Louisa,' she ordered. 'Go into the garden and tap at the dining-room
window, and tell your master that I must speak to him at once in the
drawing-room.'

And in a pitiable state of excitation, she returned to the drawing-room.

After another interminable period of suspense, her ear caught the sound
of the opening of doors, and then Stephen came into the drawing-room. A
singular apparition! He was coatless, as Louisa had said, and the
extremities of his long arms were bulged out with cream-coloured
boxing-gloves.

She sprang at him and kissed him.

'Steve,' she said, 'are we friends?'

'I should think we were!' he replied, returning her kiss heartily. He
had won.

'What are you doing?' she asked him.

'Bittenger and I are just going to have a real round with the gloves.
It's part of his cure for my indigestion, you know. He says there's
nothing like it. I've only just been able to get gloves. Tinsley
brought them up just now. And so we sort of thought we'd like to have a
go at once.'

'Why wouldn't you let me into the dining-room?'

'My child, the table was up against the door. And I fancied, perhaps,
you wouldn't be exactly charmed, so I--'

'Stephen,' she said, in her most persuasive voice, 'will you do
something to please me?'

'What is it?'

'Will you?'

A pause.

'Yes, certainly.'

'Don't box tonight.'

'Oh--well! What will Bittenger think?'

Another pause.

'Never mind! You don't want me to box, really?'

'I don't want you to box--not tonight.' 'Agreed, my chuck!' And he