you ever see me with
a toothache? Well, I should advise you not, for it would be our last
interview. I will paint it for you after dinner with pure carbolic acid;
it's splendid, that is if you don't drop any on the patient's tongue."

Morris answered that he would stick to champagne. Then Mary began to
narrate her experiences in the convent in a fashion so funny that the
Colonel could scarcely control his laughter, and even Morris, toothache,
heartache, and all, was genuinely amused.

"Imagine, my dear Morris," she said, "you know the time I get down to
breakfast. Or perhaps you don't. It's one of those things which I have
been careful to conceal from you, but you will one day, and I believe
that over it our matrimonial happiness may be wrecked. Well, at what
hour do you think I found myself expected to be up in that convent?"

"Seven," suggested Morris.

"At seven! At a quarter to five, if you please! At a quarter to five
every morning did some wretched person come and ring a dinner-bell
outside my door. And it was no use going to sleep again, not the least,
for at half-past five two hideous old lay-sisters arrived with buckets
of water--they have a perfect passion for cleanliness--and began to
scrub out the cell whether you were in bed or whether you weren't."

Then she rattled on to other experiences, trivial enough in themselves,
but so entertaining when touched and lightened with her native humour,
that very soon the evening had worn itself pleasantly away without a
single sad or untoward word.

"Good night, dear!" said Mary to Morris, who this time managed to
embrace her with becoming warmth; "you will come and see me to-morrow,
won't you--no, not in the morning. Remember I have been getting up at
a quarter to five for a month, and I am trying to equalise matters; but
after luncheon. Then we will sit before a good fire, and have a talk,
for the weather is so delightfully bad that I am sure I shan't be forced
to take exercise."

"Very well, at three o'clock," said Morris, when the Colonel, who had
been reflecting to himself, broke in.

"Look here, my dear, you must be down to lunch, or if you are not you
ought to be; so, as I want to have a chat with you about some of your
poor father's affairs, and am engaged for the rest of the day, I will
come over then if you will allow me."

"Certainly, uncle, if you like; but wouldn't Morris do instead--as
representing me, I mean?"

"Yes," he answered; "when you a