empest.

"Yes, and, like most other things that are good, it's very
disagreeable," retorted Vixen.

"And now, about this ball," pursued Mrs. Tempest, taking up a dropped
stitch in the previous argument; "I really think we ought to go, if it
were only on Violet's account. Don't you, Maria?"

Mrs. Tempest always called her governess Maria when she was anxious to
conciliate her.

"Violet is old enough to enter society, certainly," said Miss McCroke,
with some deliberation; "but whether a public ball----"

"If it's on my account, mamma, pray don't think of going," protested
Vixen earnestly. "I hate the idea of a ball--I hate----"

"Captain Winstanley," announced Forbes, in the dusky end of the
drawing-room by the door.

"He has saved me the trouble of finishing my sentence," muttered Vixen.

The visitor came smiling though the dusk into the friendly glow of the
fire. He shook hands with Mrs. Tempest with the air of an old friend,
went over to the window to shake hands with Miss McCroke, and then came
back to Vixen, who gave him a limp cold hand, with an indifference that
was almost insolent, while Argus lifted his head an inch or so from the
carpet and saluted him with a suppressed growl. Whether this arose from
a wise instinct in the animal, or from a knowledge that his mistress
disliked the gentleman, would be too nice a point to decide.

"I was that moment thinking of you, Captain Winstanley," said the widow.

"An honour and a happiness for me," murmured the Captain.

Mrs. Tempest seated herself in her own particular chair, beside which
was her own particular table with one of those pretty tea-services
which were her chief delight--a miniature silver tea-kettle with a
spirit-lamp, a cosy little ball-shaped teapot, cups and saucers of old
Battersea.

"You'll take a cup of tea?" she said insinuatingly.

"I shall be delighted. I feel as if I ought to go home and write verses
or smart paragraphs for the society papers after drinking your tea, it
is so inspiring. Addison ought to have drunk just such tea before
writing one of his Spectators, but unfortunately his muse required old
port."

"If the Spectator came out nowadays I'm afraid we should think it
stupid." suggested Mrs. Tempest.

"Simply because the slipshod writers of the present day have spoiled
our taste for fine English," interjected Miss McCroke severely.

"Well, I fear we should find Addison a little thin," said Captain
Winstanley; "I can't im