shiver, and looked up appealingly.

"Ralph, you are not to tease her," said aunty. "Remember all your
promises to your father."

Ralph looked rather snubbed.

"Let us talk of something pleasant," continued aunty, anxious to change
the subject. "What shall we do to-morrow? What shall we go to see first?"

"Yes," said grandmother. "What are your pet wishes, children?"

"Notre Dame," cried Molly.

"The Louvre," said Sylvia.

"Anything you like. I don't care much for sightseeing," said Ralph.

"That's a pity," said aunty drily. "However, as you are the only
gentleman of the party, and we are all dependent on you, perhaps it is
just as well that you have no special fancies of your own. So to-morrow
I propose that we should go a drive in the morning, to give you a general
idea of Paris, returning by Notre Dame. In the afternoon I have some
calls to make, and a little shopping to do, and you three must not forget
to write to your father. Then the next day we can go to the Louvre, as
Sylvia wished."

"Thank you, aunty," said Sylvia. "It isn't so much for the pictures I
want to go, but I do so want to see the room where poor Henry the Fourth
was killed. I am _so_ fond of Henry the Fourth."

Aunty smiled, and Ralph burst out laughing.

"What a queer idea!" he said. "If you are so fond of him, I should think
you would rather _not_ see the room where he was killed."

Sylvia grew scarlet, and Molly flew up in her defence.

"You've no business to laugh at Sylvia, Ralph," she cried. "_I_
understand her quite well. And she knows a great deal more history than
you do--and about pictures, too. Of course we want to see the pictures,
too. There's that beautiful blue and orange one of Murillo's that papa
has a little copy of. _It's_ at the Louvre."

"I didn't say it wasn't," retorted Ralph. "It's Sylvia's love of horrors
I was laughing at."

"She _doesn't_ love horrors," replied Molly, more and more indignant.

"_You_ needn't talk," said Ralph coolly. "Who was it that took a box of
matches in her pocket to Holyrood Palace, and was going to strike one to
look for the blood-stains on the floor? It was the only thing you cared
to see, and yet you are such a goose--crying out if a butterfly settles
on you. I think girls are----"

"Ralph, my boy," said grandmother, seeing that by this time Molly was
almost in tears; "whatever you think of girls, you make me, I am sorry to
say, think that boys' love of teasing is utterly inco