he majority of his sex, and
though as a lover he felt a certain amount of self-abnegation to be
becoming in him, it was difficult to drive away the thoughts of his
pleasant club, where he could be reading and smoking, with, perchance,
something cooling in a glass beside him.

However, after she had purchased a dozen or more articles she did not
want, Madge remembered that Brian was waiting for her, and hurried to
the door.

"I haven't been many minutes, have I, dear?" she said, touching him
lightly on the arm.

"Oh, dear no," answered Brian, looking at his watch, "only thirty--a
mere nothing, considering a new dress was being discussed."

"I thought I had been longer," said Madge, her brow clearing; "but
still I am sure you feel a martyr."

"Not at all," replied Fitzgerald, handing her into the carriage; "I
enjoyed myself very much."

"Nonsense," she laughed, opening her sunshade, while Brian took his
seat beside her; "that's one of those social stories--which every one
considers themselves bound to tell from a sense of duty. I'm afraid I
did keep you waiting--though, after all," she went on, with a true
feminine idea as to the flight of time, "I was only a few minutes."

"And the rest," said Brian, quizzically looking at her pretty face, so
charmingly flushed under her great white hat.

Madge disdained to notice this interruption.

"James," she cried to the coachman, "drive to the Melbourne Club. Papa
will be there, you know," she said to Brian, "and we'll take him off to
have tea with us."

"But it's only one o'clock," said Brian, as the Town Hall clock came in
sight. "Mrs. Sampson won't be ready."

"Oh, anything will do," replied Madge, "a cup of tea and some thin
bread and butter isn't hard to prepare. I don't feel like lunch, and
papa eats so little in the middle of the day, and you--"

"Eat a great deal at all times," finished Brian with a laugh.

Madge went on chattering in her usual lively manner, and Brian listened
to her with delight. Her pleasant talk drove away the evil spirit which
had been with him for the last three weeks. Suddenly Madge made an
observation as they were passing the Burke and Wills' monument, which
startled him.

"Isn't that the place where Mr Whyte got into the cab?" she asked,
looking at the corner near the Scotch Church, where a vagrant of
musical tendencies was playing "Just before the Battle, Mother," on a
battered old concertina.

"So the papers say," answered Bri