hat little betrayal about Dore's Gallery. She refuses to take another
step; she is already, indeed, a little frightened by what she has done
If Joyce should hear of it--oh----And yet how could she refrain from
giving that small push to so deserving a cause?

"No, no; I recommend nothing," says she, still laughing. "Where are you
staying?"

"With my cousins, the Seaton Dysarts. They had to come up to town about
a tooth, or a headache, or neuralgia, or something; we shall never quite
know what, as it has disappeared, whatever it is. Give me London smoke
as a perfect cure for most ailments. It is astonishing what remarkable
recoveries it can boast. Vera and her husband are like a couple of
children. Even the pantomime isn't too much for them."

"That reminds me the children ought to be here by this time," says Mrs.
Monkton, drawing out her watch. "They went to the afternoon performance.
I really think," anxiously, "they are very late----"

She has hardly spoken when a sound of little running feet up the stairs
outside sets her maternal fears at rest. Nearer and nearer they sound;
they stop, there is a distant scuffle, the door is thrown violently
open, and Tommy and Mabel literally fall into the room.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Then seemed to me this world far less in size,
Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far;
Like points in heaven I saw the stars arise,
And longed for wings that I might catch a star."

Least said, soonest mended! Tommy is on his feet again in no time, and
has picked up Mabel before you could say Jack Robinson, and once again,
nothing daunted by their ignominious entry, they rush up the room and
precipitate themselves upon their mother. This pious act being
performed, Tommy sees fit to show some small attention to the other
people present.

"Thomas," says Mr. Browne, when he has shaken hands with him, "if you
wait much longer without declaring yourself you will infallibly burst,
and that is always a rude thing to do in a friend's drawing-room. Speak,
Thomas, or die--you are evidently full of information!"

"Well, I won't tell you!" says Tommy, naturally indignant at this
address. He throws a resentful look at him over his shoulder while
making his way to his grandfather. There is a queer sort of
sympathy--understanding--what you will--between the child and the stern
old man.

"Come here," says Sir George, drawing Tommy to him. "Well, and did you
enjoy yourself? Was it a