t of us weren't quite class enough for her ladyship. But you
can't go wrong with these old Irish kings! So little known about 'em.
Eh, Hiram? There! Milord has got a taxi for Auntie Lovelace"--which was
surprisingly true.

"Got off with her, hasn't he?" laughed London's Love. "S'prised at her
at her time o' life. Still, there's no fool like an old fool. I ought to
know; nothing at 85 can resist little Me. Now, then, lunch at last. I
guess you're all fairly perishing."

We were.

But there was one picture that remained with me even after we all got to
the Cecil and the whole party--including Miss Million's maid--were
sitting greedily concentrating upon the menu at one of the round tables
in the big dining-room.

This was the picture of my Aunt Anastasia whirling towards Putney in
that taxi--she who never, never can afford the luxury of a
cab!--accompanied by the Honourable James Burke!

What would that drive be like? What would that unscrupulous young
Irishman say to her, and she to him?

Would she ask him into No. 45? And--would he go?

Would she ask questions about her niece, Miss Million's maid, and would
he answer them?

Oh! How I long to know these things! My wish for that is so keen that it
causes me to forget even the black fog of suspicion under which my
mistress and I will have to move while we are still "on bail." How I
wish the Honourable Jim would hurry up and come back, just so that I
could hear all about his tete-a-tete with my aunt!

But as it is, there's plenty to occupy me. A delicious lunch before me
to make up for no dinner the night before, and a prison breakfast this
morning!

At the head of the table Miss Vi Vassity, with her stream of comment as
cheering and bright as the Bubbley in our glasses, which she insisted on
standing all round! Beside me my very eligible and nice would-be fiance,
Mr. Reginald Brace, a young man that any girl ought to be glad to be
sitting next.

I don't mean "ought," of course. I mean "would." I was, I know.

Mr. Brace was so kind, and tried all the time to be so sympathetic and
helpful. I shall never forget his goodness. And he was really most
apologetic about not having rushed to help Aunt Anastasia the minute I
said anything about it.

"You see, I really think she would have preferred not to speak to me,"
he said. Then anxiously: "You are not annoyed with me, Miss Lovelace?
You don't feel I could have done anything else?"

"Of course, you couldn't," I