ion to
London will have failed--that vague hope of a reconciliation through the
children that she had yet scarcely allowed to herself.

Need it be said that Mr. Browne has succumbed to secret but disgraceful
mirth. A good three-quarters of a full-sized handkerchief is already in
his mouth--a little more of the cambric and "death through suffocation"
will adorn the columns of the _Times_ in the morning. Sir George, too,
what is the matter with him? He is speechless--from indignation one must
hope.

"What ails you, grandpa?" demands Tommy, after a full minute's strict
examination of him.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," says Sir George, choking; "it is only--that I'm
glad you have so thoroughly enjoyed yourself and your harlequin,
and--ha, ha, ha, your Columbine. Columbine, now mind. And here's this
for you, Tommy, because you are such a good boy."

He opens the little grandson's hand and presses into the pink palm of it
a sovereign.

"Thank you," says Tommy, in the polite regulation tone he has been
taught, without a glance at his gift--a touch of etiquette he has been
taught, too. Then the curious eyes of childhood wander to the palm, and,
seeing the unexpected pretty gold thing lying there, he colors up to the
tips of his ears with surprise and pleasure. Then sudden compunction
seizes on the kindly little heart. The world is strange to him. He knows
but one or two here and there. His father is poor. A sovereign--that is,
a gold piece--would be rare with him, why not rare with another? Though
filled with admiration and gratitude for the giver of so big a gift, the
child's heart commands him not to accept it.

"Oh, it is too much," says he, throwing his arms round Sir George's neck
and trying to press the sovereign back into his hand. "A shilling I'd
like, but that's such a lot of shillings, and maybe you'd be wanting
it." This is all whispered in the softest, tenderest way.

"No, no, my boy," says Sir George, whispering back, and glad that he
must whisper. His voice, even so, sounds a little queer to himself. How
often he might have gladdened this child with a present, a small one,
and until now----"Keep it," says he; he has passed his hand round the
little head and is pressing it against his breast.

"May I? Really?" says Tommy, emancipating his head with a little jerk,
and looking at Sir George with searching eyes.

"You may indeed!"

"God bless you!" says Tommy, solemnly.

It is a startling remark to Sir George