an
apology in his whole air that she forgives him. "Many conflicting
thoughts led me astray. I must ask your pardon."

"Why, granted!" says she. "And--I was cross, wasn't I? After all an old
friend like you might be allowed a little laxity. There, never mind,"
holding out her hand. "Let us make it up."

Dysart grasps the little extended hand with avidity, and peace seems
restored when Tommy puts an end to all things. To anyone acquainted with
children I need hardly remark that he has been listening to the
foregoing conversation with all his ears and all his eyes and every bit
of his puzzled intelligence.

"Well, go on," says he, giving his aunt a push when the friendly
hand-shake has come to an end.

"Go on? Where?" asks she, with apparent unconcern but a deadly
foreboding at her breast. She knows her Tommy.

"You _said_ you were going to make it up with him!" says that hero,
regarding her with disapproving eyes.

"Well, I have made it up."

"No, you haven't! When you make it up with me you always kiss me! Why
don't you kiss him?"

Consternation on the part of the principal actors. Dysart, strange to
say, is the first to recover.

"Why indeed?" says he, giving way all at once to a fatal desire for
laughter. This, Miss Kavanagh, being vexed with herself for her late
confusion, resents strongly.

"I am sure, Tommy," says she, with a mildness that would not have
imposed upon an infant, "that your lesson hour has arrived. Come, say
good-bye to Mr. Dysart, and let us begin at once. You know I am going to
teach you to-day. Good-bye, Mr. Dysart--if you want to see Barbara, you
will find her very probably in the study."

"Don't go like this," says he anxiously. "Or if you _will_ go, at least
tell me that you will accept Lady Baltimore's invitation."

"I don't know," smiling coldly. "I think not. You see I was there for
such a _long_ time in the beginning of the year, and Barbara always
wants me, and one should not be selfish you know."

"One should not indeed!" says he, with slow meaning. "What answer, then,
must I give my cousin? You know," in a low tone, "that she is not
altogether happy. You can lighten her burden a little. She is fond of
you."

"I can lighten Barbara's burden also. Think me the very incarnation of
selfishness if you will," says she rather unjustly, "but still, if
Barbara says 'don't go,' I shall stay here."

"Mrs. Monkton won't say that."

"Perhaps not," toying idly with a rose, in su