Mr. Tom, sadly. 'It's quite
different now. Now she's on the pious lay.'

'The what?' said Frank King. It was clear that, however Mr. Tom had
altered, he had not chosen to improve his manner of speech.

'Oh, High Church and reredoses,' said the irreverent youth. 'Silver
embroideries, don't you know, and visiting the poor, and catching all
sorts of confounded infection. And then I suppose she'll end by
marrying that curate that's always about the house. What a shame it
is! She used to be such a brick. And to go and marry a curate.'

'I heard of that, too,' said Captain Frank, with a bit of a sigh. It
was indeed among the first things he had heard after returning to
England.

By this time they had reached Mr. Tom's club, which was pleasantly
situated at a corner of the great thoroughfare, so that it had from its
coffee-room windows a spacious view, and was altogether a light and
cheerful sort of place.

'But you don't ask about the Baby,' said Mr. Tom, as he was entering
his friend's name in the strangers' book--the Waterloo being a
hospitable little club that allowed visitors to come in at any hour.
'And the Baby _is_ in a hole.'

'Well, it must be a sad thing for a baby to be in a hole; but I don't
quite understand,' said Captain King.

'Don't you remember the Baby? The youngest--Madge?'

'Oh. Well, I only saw her once, I think. What is the matter with her?'

'First pick out what you want for lunch, and then I'll tell you.'

This was easily done; and the two friends sat down at a small
window-table, which enabled them to glance out at the passing crowd,
and even as far as the Duke of York's column and the tops of the trees
in St. James's Park.

'You see my sisters have all been wards in Chancery. I was also,' said
Mr. Tom, with a slight blush; for he was no more than six months
escaped from tutelage. 'I suppose the executors funked something about
my father's will; at all events, they flung the whole thing in. Well,
no great harm has come of it; not so much cost or worry as you would
expect. Only the girls have had bad times of it about their
sweethearts. I mean the Baby----'

'The Baby! How old is she?'

'Eighteen; and uncommonly good-looking, I think. Have some sherry.
Well, the Baby made the acquaintance at somebody's house of a young
fellow--son of a barrister--not a farthing but what he picks up at
pool. I don't think she meant anything--I don't a bit. There's a lot
of that kin