You take an opportunity of turning an innocent remark of
mine, a kindly warning, into a ribald----"

"Good heavens!" says he, uplifting brows and hands. "I never yet knew it
was ribaldry to talk about one's teeth."

"You were not talking about your teeth," says Miss L'Estrange sternly.
"You said distinctly 'both of them.'"

"Just so," says Dicky. "I've only got two."

"Is that the truth, Richard?" with increasing majesty.

"Honest Injun," says Mr. Browne, unabashed. "And they are out of sight.
All you can see have been purchased, and I assure you, dear Miss
L'Estrange," with anxious earnestness, "paid for. One guinea the entire
set; a single tooth, two-and-six. Who'd be without 'em?"

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it," says Miss L'Estrange reseating herself and
regarding him still with manifest distrust. "To lose one's teeth so
early in life speaks badly for one's moral conduct. Anyhow, I shan't
allow you to destroy your guinea's worth. I shall remove temptation from
your path."

Lifting the sugar bowl she removes it to her right side, thus laying
bare the fact that Mr. Browne's cup of tea is still full to the brim.

It is the last stroke.

"Drink your tea," says she to the stricken Dicky in a tone that admits
of no delay. He drinks it.

Meantime, Barbara has been very kind to Felix Dysart, answering his
roundabout questions that always have Joyce as their central meaning.
One leading remark of his is to the effect that he is covered with
astonishment to find her and Monkton in London. Is he surprised. Well,
no doubt, yes. Joyce is in town, too, but she has not come out with her
to-day. Have they been to the theatre? Very often; Joyce, especially, is
quite devoted to it. Do they go much to the picture galleries? Well, to
one or two. There is so much to be done, and the children are rather
exigeant, and demand all the afternoon. But she had heard Joyce say that
she was going to-morrow to Dore's Gallery. She thought Tommy ought to be
shown something more improving than clowns and wild animals and toy
shops.

Mr. Dysart, at this point, said he thought Miss Kavanagh was more
reflective than one taking a careless view of her might believe.

Barbara laughed.

"Do you take the reflective view?" says she.

"Do you recommend me to take the careless one?" demands he, now looking
fully at her. There is a good deal of meaning in his question, but
Barbara declines to recognize it. She feels she has gone far enough in
t