, 1899-02-17

never matters Who"
'There is more in it than you think"
says Dysart, gloomily.
"Not a fraction!" airily.
sand what of her? Lady Swansdown?'
"Of herl Her heart has been in such
constant use for years that by this time
II must be in tatters. Give up thinking
about that. All! here is my beloved girl
againl" He makes an elaborate gesture of
delight as he sees Joyce advancing in his
direction. Dear Joyce!" beaming on her,
"who shall say there Is nothing in animal
magnetism. Here l have been just talking
about you to Dysart, and telling him what
O lost soul feel when you're away, and
Instantly, as IL in answer to my keen de-
sire, you appear before me-"
why aren't you playing tennis ?" de-
mands Miss Kavanagh, with a cruel disre
gard of this flowery speech.
Because / was waiting for you"
"Well I'll beat you" says she. II al
ways do"
Hotter and hotter grows the sun; the
evening m on apace; a few people
from neighboring houses have dropped in,
Mrs. Monkton among others, with Tommy
In tow. The latter, who is supposed to
GuDtIbtlu u bllOuS dhNSLlOn LUZ AId0y Dd1-
timore's little son, no sooner, however,
sees Dicky Browne than he gives himself
up to his keeping. What the attraction 10
that Mr.. Browne has for children has
never yet been clearly defined.
"In stay with Dicky," says Tommy,
Hinging himself broadcast on Mr..
Brownies reluctant chest, that gives forth
q compulsory "WoughP' as he does SO.
"He1l tell me a story"
Don't be unhappy, Mrs. Monkton,"
says the latter, when he has recovered a
little from the shock; Tommy is a WELL
grown boy with a sufficient amount of adj
pose matter about him to make his descent
fe1t. 'In promise to be careful. Nothing
French, l assure you. Nothing that could
shock the young mind or teach 1t how to
shoot in the wrong direction. My tales
are always strictly moral"
swell, Tommy, be goodP' says Mrs.
Monkton, with a last imploring glance at
her son, who has already forgotten her
existence, being lost in a wild wrestling
match with his new friend. With deep
forebodlngs his mother leaves him and
goes upon her way. Passing Joyce, she
says in a low whisper;
Keep an eye on Tommy"
"Yes, I'll look after him."
And SO perhaps she might have done had
not a light step sounding just behind her
chair at this moment caused her to start
Ito look round-to forget all but what
abe now sees.
He is a very aristocratic looking man,
tall, with large limbs, and big indeed in
every way. His eyes are light, his nose
q handsome Roman, his forehead massive,
and if not grand in the distinctly intel
lectual way, still a fine forehead and i'm
pressive. His hands are of a goodly size,
but exquisitely proportional, and very
white, the skin almost delicate. He is
rather like his sister, Lady Baltimore, and
yet so different from her in every way that
the resemblance that Ii there torments
the observer.
"Whyw says Joyce. 1t is the most fool.
ish exclamation, and means nothing, but
she finds herself a little taken off her
guard. 81 didn't know you were herel"
She has half risen.
"Neither did I-hsw dye do, Dysart7-
until half an hour ago. Won't you shake
handsT'
He holds cut his own hand to her a. he
speeks. There IL q quikzical hSht In his
ayss a. ~ ~nssks, nothins - offend, bat