ed a pulverising surprise for the house-party; and in due
time, she intended to explode it, and subsequently Billy was to
apologise for his conduct, and then they were to live happily ever
afterward.

She had not yet decided what he was to apologise for; that was his
affair. His conscience ought to have told him, by this, wherein he had
offended; and if his conscience hadn't, why then, of course, he would
have to apologise for his lack of proper sensibility.

After breakfast she went, according to her usual custom, to her
father's rooms, for, as I think I have told you, the old gentleman was
never visible until noon. She had astonishing news for him.

What time she divulged it, the others sat on the terrace, and Mr.
Kennaston read to them, as he had promised, from his "Defense of
Ignorance." It proved a welcome diversion to more than one of the
party. Mr. Woods, especially, esteemed it a godsend; it staved off
misfortune for at least a little; so he sat at Kathleen's side in
silence, trying desperately to be happy, trying desperately not to see
the tiny wrinkles, the faint crow's feet Time had sketched in her face
as a memorandum of the work he meant to do shortly.

Billy consoled himself with the reflection that he was very fond of
her; but, oh (he thought), what worship, what adoration he could
accord this woman if she would only decline--positively--to have
anything whatever to do with him!

I think we ought not to miss hearing Mr. Kennaston's discourse. It is
generally conceded that his style is wonderfully clever; and I have
no doubt that his detractors--who complain that his style is mere
word-twisting, a mere inversion of the most ancient truisms--are
actuated by the very basest jealousy. Let us listen, then, and be duly
edified as he reads in a low, sweet voice, and the birds twitter about
him in the clear morning.

"It has been for many years," Mr. Kennaston began, "the custom of
patriotic gentlemen in quest of office to point with pride to the fact
that the schoolmaster is abroad in the land, in whose defense they
stand pledged to draw their salaries and fight to the last gasp
for reelection. These lofty platitudes, while trying to the lungs,
doubtless appeal to a certain class of minds. But, indeed, the
schoolmaster is not abroad; he is domesticated in every village in
America, where each hamlet has its would-be Shakespeare, and each
would-be Shakespeare has his 'Hamlet' by heart. Learning is rampant i