ar that our good Mary still suffers acutely
from the old complaint,' etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Last time she
paid her visit when Midas had his Easter holidays, and one day, seeing
mother quite exhausted by her efforts at entertainment, he made the
brilliant proposal that he should take Miss Biggs off her hands for the
sum of fourpence an hour. Mother agreed with enthusiasm, and Midas made
quite a fortune in the next fortnight, with equal satisfaction to all
concerned. In the morning he took Miss Biggs out walking to see the
sights, and gave her his advice in the purchase of new caps. In the
afternoon the wily young wretch cajoled her into giving him an hour's
coaching in French, and in the evening he challenged her to draughts and
dominoes, and made a point of allowing her to win. Mother had a chance
of attending to her work; father could read in peace; Midas was in a
condition of such complacent good nature that he declared Miss Biggs was
a `ripping old girl,' and she on her part gave him the credit for being
`the most gentlemanly youth she had ever encountered.' I believe she is
really attached to him, and should not wonder if she remembers him
substantially in her will. Then Midas will have scored a double
triumph!"

Wallace and Lorna laughed as heartily as I did over these histories.
They really are a most good-natured family, and Wallace treats Lorna as
politely as if she were someone else, and not his own sister, which is
very different from some young men I could mention. I had put on my
blue dress, and I knew quite well that he admired it and me, and that
put me in such good spirits that I was quite sparkling and witty. He
stayed talking to us until after nine, when he had to go downstairs to
write some letters.

"Thank goodness! I thought he would never go. What a bore he is!"
Lorna said, when the door closed behind him.

I didn't feel like that at all, but I disguised my feelings, and told
her the details and the adventures of the last three months, and about
Vere, and the house, and my own private tribulations, and she
sympathised and looked at everything from my point of view, in the nice,
unprejudiced way friends have. It was very soothing, and I could have
gone on for a long time, but it was only polite to return the
compliment, so I said--

"Now we must talk about you! You said in your last letter that you had
many troubles of which you could not write. Poor, sweet thing, tell me
ab