e_ let
me pour it out to-night?"

"Of course, my love, and thank you too."

"And may I to-morrow evening?" asks Monica, with childish eagerness and
a quick warm blush.

"You may, indeed, my pretty one; and I hope it won't be long before you
pour me out my tea in your own house."

Monica laughs, and kisses her, and Desmond, who is standing near them,
stoops over Madam O'Connor and tells her he would like to kiss her
too,--first, for her own sake, and secondly, for that sweet hope of hers
just uttered.

"Not a bit of it," says she, in return, in a tone as sprightly as it was
twenty years ago, though too low for Monica to hear. "Your first and
second reasons are all humbug. Say at once you want to kiss me because
you think this child's caress still lingers on my lips. Ah ha!--you see
I know more than you think, my lad. And hark you, Brian, come here till
I whisper a word in your ear; I'm your friend, boy, in the matter, and I
wish you luck, though Priscilla Blake kill me for it; that's what I want
to say."

"I couldn't desire a better friend," says Brian gratefully.

"And where on earth _is_ Mary Browne?" says Madam O'Connor. "She is such
a nice girl, though hardly a Venus. Owen, my dear, I want you to take
her down to dinner, and to make yourself charming to her."

"I shall be only too pleased," says Mr. Kelly, faintly; and then he
sinks back in his chair and covers his face with his hands.

"We were talking about Miss Browne's father; he was quite a millionaire,
wasn't he?" says Lord Rossmoyne, who is standing at the tea-table beside
Olga. He is a very rich man himself, and has, therefore, a due regard
for riches in others.

"He was,--and the most unpleasant person I ever met in my life, into the
bargain," says Madam O'Connor. "I'm sure the life he led that poor
Mary!--I never felt more relieved at anything than at the news of his
death."

"I feel as if I could weep for Mary," says Mr. Kelly, in an aside to
Mrs. Herrick, who takes no notice of him. "I wonder if she has got a
little lamb," he goes on, unrebuked.

"What about the lamb?" says Madam, whose ears are young as ever.

"I was only conjecturing as to whether your cousin Mary had a little
lamb," says Mr. Kelly, genially. "The old Mary had, you know. A dear
little animal with its

'Fleece as white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go.'

You recollect, don't you? What does Miss Browne do with hers? Has sh