mixture made out of nine
`ingrediencies'! I really will think about it, Hope. I believe it
would be interesting. Would you help me to furnish the rooms and make
them pretty and artistic?"

"Rather! I adore buying things--when some one else has to pay. We
would have one room blue, and one pink, with white paint and dear little
white beds, and bookcases full of nice books, and comfy wicker chairs by
the window, where the girls could sit and read, and rest their poor,
tired backs. And I would be your town agent, and look out for likely
subjects. If I were in a shop and saw a poor, anaemic-looking girl, I
could find out her circumstances from the manager or head of the
department; and if she had no one to look after her, and was living in
the shop, or in poky little lodgings, I could send on her name to you,
and you would invite her to come here for the holidays. Oh, you are
going to do it, my dear! You'll _have_ to do it! I'll give you no
peace till you do."

"I'll think about it. I can't decide things in a moment; but I would
like to work with you, Hope, and it doesn't sound too formidable. I
really think I could arrange a pleasant holiday for the girls."

"I really think you might," agreed Hope, laughing; and then suddenly
came a halloa of welcome, and over the fence appeared one head after
another as the shooting party rose to receive the new-comers.

Truda and Mrs Inglis had arrived some ten minutes earlier, and luncheon
was laid on a cloth under the shelter of the hedge, mackintosh sheets
being spread upon the ground, on which the guests could sit without fear
of rheumatic consequences. A few yards away the beaters were already
refreshing themselves with Irish stew and copious draughts of beer,
while from the hampers had come forth all manner of tempting viands, to
which the sportsmen did ample justice, the while they protested at such
dainties.

"Mrs Loftus spoils us altogether. I don't approve of luxuries at a
shooting lunch. We are getting too soft as a nation; that is what is
the matter with us. It would be a lot better if we went back to simpler
ways.--Cut me a chunk more of that galantine, that's a good fellow. A
_chunk_, I said; cut it thicker, can't you?" and Reggie Blake bent
forward to superintend the carver's movements with an anxiety of
expression which evoked a hearty laugh from his companions.

Mrs Nash, the new-comer, was offering "a handsome wife and ten thousand
a year," in th