y and Mr. Mafferton's obvious though embarrassed joy, and
as Mrs. Portheris's cab drove up at the moment I made a tentative
attempt to bring the interview to a close. "Mr. Dod and I are walking,"
I said.

"Ah, these little strolls!" exclaimed Mrs. Portheris, with benignant
humour. "I suppose we must condone them now!" and she waved her hand,
rolling away, as if she gave us a British matron's blessing.

"Oh, don't!" I cried. "Don't condone them--you mustn't!" But my words
fell short in a cloud of dust, and even Dicky, wrapped in his tragedy,
failed to receive an impression from them.

"How," he demanded passionately, "do you account for it?"

"Account for what?" I shuffled.

"The size of her head--the frost--the whole bally conversation!"
propounded Dicky, with tears in his eyes.

I have really a great deal of feeling, and I did not rebuke these terms.
Besides, I could see only one way out of it, and I was occupied with the
best terms in which to present it to Dicky. So I said I didn't know, and
reflected.

"She isn't the same girl!" he groaned.

"Men are always talking in the funny columns of the newspapers," I
remarked absently, "about how much better they can throw a stone and
sharpen a pencil than we can."

Mr. Dod looked injured. "Oh, well," he said, "if you prefer to talk
about something else----"

"But they can't see into a sentimental situation any further than into a
board fence," I continued serenely. "My dear Dick, Isabel thinks you're
engaged. So does her mamma. So does Mr. Mafferton."

"Who to?" exclaimed Mr. Dod, in ungrammatical amazement.

"I looked at him reproachfully. Don't be such an owl!" I said.

Light streamed in upon Dicky's mind. "To you!" he exclaimed. "Great
Scott!"

"Preposterous, isn't it?" I said.

"I should ejaculate! Well, no, I mean--I shouldn't ejaculate, but--oh,
you know what I mean----"

"I do," I said. "Don't apologise."

"What in my aunt's wardrobe do they think that for?"

"You left their party and joined ours rather abruptly at Pompeii," I
said.

"Had to!"

"Isabel didn't know you had to. If she tried to find out, I fancy she
was told little girls shouldn't ask questions. It was Lot's wife who
really came between you, but Isabel wouldn't have been jealous of Lot's
wife."

"I suppose not," said Dicky doubtfully.

"Do you remember meeting the Misses Bingham in the Ufizzi? and telling
them you were going to be----"

"That's so."

"You didn't give the