of me!" With a lovely smile at Luttrell across the bowl of flowers
that ornaments the breakfast-table. "And with such a man, too! A
terrible old person who has forgotten his native language and can only
mumble, and who has not got one tooth in his mouth or one hair on his
head, and no flesh at all to speak of."

"What a fetching description!" says Luttrell. "You excite my curiosity.
He is not 'on view,' is he?"

"Not yet," says Molly, with an airy laugh. "Probably when he dies they
will embalm him, and forward him to the British Museum, as a remarkable
species of his kind; and then we shall all get the full value of one
shilling. I myself would walk to London to see that."

"So would I," says Luttrell, "if you would promise to tell me the day
you are going."

"Letitia, I feel myself _de trop_, whatever you may," exclaims
John, rising. "And see how time flies; it is almost half-past ten.
Really, we grow lazier every day. I shudder to think at what hour I
shall get my breakfast by the time I am an old man."

(Poor John!)

"Why, you are as old as the hills this moment," says Molly, drawing
down his kind face, that bears such a strong resemblance to her own, to
bestow upon it a soft sweet kiss. "You are not to grow any older,--mind
that; you are to keep on looking just as you look now forever, or I
will not forgive you. Now go away and make yourself charming for your
Lady Barton."

"Oh, I don't spend three hours before my looking-glass," says John,
"whenever I go anywhere." He is smoothing her beautiful hair with
loving fingers as he speaks. "But I think I will utter one word of
warning, Ted, before I leave you to her tender mercies for the day.
Don't give in to her. If you do, she will lead you an awful life. At
first she bullied me until I hardly dared to call my soul my own; but
when I found Letitia I plucked up spirit (you know a worm will turn),
and ventured to defy her, and since that existence has been bearable."

"Letitia, come to my defense," says Molly, in a tragic tone, stretching
out her arms to her sister-in-law, who has been busy pacifying her
youngest hope. As he has at last, however, declared himself content
with five lumps of sugar and eight sweet biscuits, she finds time to
look up and smile brightly at Molly.

"Letitia, my dear, don't perjure yourself," says John. "You know I
speak the truth. A last word, Luttrell." He is standing behind his
sister as he speaks, and taking her arms he puts her