yes sent out flashes of
lightning at the innocent little blunderer, but Marie's eyes shone; her
face was one beam of tender amusement.

"What then, _cherie_? Tell thy Marie!"

"M-monkeys!" lisped Jack.

The roar of derision which greeted this consolatory statement brought
the startled tears into Jack's eyes, but Marie's arms wrapped round him,
and her voice cooed in his ear.

"Little pigeon! little cabbage! Weep not, my darling! Marie does not
laugh. Marie understands. It is true! The monkeys are more ugly than
I."

Pixie turned, to find Esmeralda standing beside her, her brows frowning,
while her lips smiled. She put her hand through her sister's arm and
drew her away.

"Leave them alone; Marie manages them best. Poor, weeny Jack! He meant
so well!" She drew a long sigh. "Those two boys are just a newer
edition of their parents. Little Jack is Geoffrey over again--just the
same kind, patient, sensitive disposition; and Geoff is me. When he is
in one of his moods it's like looking at myself in a mental glass. I'm
furious with him for showing me how hateful I can be, and at the same
time I understand what he is feeling so well that my heart nearly breaks
with sympathy. It's terrible to feel that one is showing a bad example
to one's own child, when one cares so much that at any moment one would
be willingly flayed alive to do him good!"

"Improve your example, me dear--wouldn't that be simpler!" cried Pixie,
with an air of breezy common sense which was in startling contrast to
the other's tragic fervour.

There was a time for everything, Pixie reflected, and it did _not_ seem
a judicious moment for a hostess to indulge in heroics, what time the
members of her house-party were advancing to meet her with faces
wreathed in expectancy. They made a goodly picture in the spring
sunshine--the little trim girl and the two tall men attired in the easy
country kit which is so becoming to the Anglo-Saxon type. The young
hostess looked at them and gave a start of recollection.

"Oh, of course! I was forgetting. ... We have been arranging a picnic.
Geoff has ordered the big car for eleven. He is to drive us a
twenty-mile spin to the beginning of Frame Woods. The chauffeur will go
on by train and meet us there, to take the car round by the high-road
and meet us a few miles farther on with the hampers. The woods are
carpeted with primroses just now, so we shall enjoy the walk, and it
will give us an ap