was awoke by a horrible noise."

"That couldn't ha' been me," protested her father. "I was only a bit
cheerful. It was Benjamin Ely's birthday yesterday, and after we left
the Lion they started singing, and I just hummed to keep 'em company. I
wasn't singing, mind you, only humming--when up comes that interfering
Cooper and takes me off."

Miss Gunnill shivered, and with her pretty cheek in her hand sat by the
window the very picture of despondency. "Why didn't he take the others?"
she inquired.

"Ah!" said Mr. Gunnill, with great emphasis, "that's what a lot more of
us would like to know. P'r'aps if you'd been more polite to Mrs. Cooper,
instead o' putting it about that she looked young enough to be his
mother, it wouldn't have happened."

His daughter shook her head impatiently and, on Mr. Gunnill making an
allusion to breakfast, expressed surprise that he had got the heart to
eat any-thing. Mr. Gunnill pressing the point, however, she arose and
began to set the table, the undue care with which she smoothed out the
creases of the table-cloth, and the mathematical exactness with which she
placed the various articles, all being so many extra smarts in his wound.
When she finally placed on the table enough food for a dozen people he
began to show signs of a little spirit.

"Ain't you going to have any?" he demanded, as Miss Gunnill resumed her
seat by the window.

"Me?" said the girl, with a shudder. "Breakfast? The disgrace is
breakfast enough for me. I couldn't eat a morsel; it would choke me."

Mr. Gunnill eyed her over the rim of his teacup. "I come down an hour
ago," he said, casually, as he helped himself to some bacon.

Miss Gunnill started despite herself. "Oh!" she said, listlessly.

"And I see you making a very good breakfast all by yourself in the
kitchen," continued her father, in a voice not free from the taint of
triumph.

The discomfited Selina rose and stood regarding him; Mr. Gunnill, after a
vain attempt to meet her gaze, busied himself with his meal.

"The idea of watching every mouthful I eat!" said Miss Gunnill,
tragically; "the idea of complaining because I have some breakfast! I'd
never have believed it of you, never! It's shameful! Fancy grudging
your own daughter the food she eats!"

Mr. Gunnill eyed her in dismay. In his confusion he had overestimated
the capacity of his mouth, and he now strove in vain to reply to this
shameful perversion of his meaning. His daugh