near court, and when this game is
at an end, call it ours;" she sinks into a chair as she speaks, and
Dysart, who is in a silent mood, flings himself on the grass at her feet
and falls into a reverie. To be conversational is unnecessary, Dicky
Browne is on the spot.

* * * * *

Hotter and hotter grows the sun; the evening comes on apace; a few
people from the neighboring houses have dropped in; Mrs. Monkton amongst
others, with Tommy in tow. The latter, who is supposed to entertain a
strong affection for Lady Baltimore's little son, no sooner, however,
sees Dicky Browne than he gives himself up to his keeping. What the
attraction is that Mr. Browne has for children has never yet been
clearly defined. It is the more difficult to arrive at a satisfactory
conclusion about it, in that no child was ever yet left in his sole care
for ten minutes without coming to blows, or tears, or a determined
attempt at murder or suicide.

His mother, seeing Tommy veering towards this uncertain friend, turns a
doubtful eye on Mr. Browne.

"Better come with me, Tommy," says she, "I am going to the gardens to
find Lady Baltimore. She will have Bertie with her."

"I'll stay with Dicky," says Tommy, flinging himself broadcast on Mr.
Brown's reluctant chest, that gives forth a compulsory "Wough" as he
does so. "He'll tell me a story."

"Don't be unhappy, Mrs. Monkton," says the latter, when he has recovered
a little from the shock--Tommy is a well-grown boy, with a sufficient
amount of adipose matter about him to make his descent felt. "I'll
promise to be careful. Nothing French I assure you. Nothing that could
shock the young mind, or teach it how to shoot in the wrong direction.
My tales are always strictly moral."

"Well, Tommy, be _good_!" says Mrs. Monkton with a last imploring glance
at her son, who has already forgotten her existence, being lost in a
wild wrestling match with his new friend. With deep forebodings his
mother leaves him and goes upon her way. Passing Joyce, she says in a
low whisper:

"Keep an eye on Tommy."

"Both eyes if you like," laughing. "But Dicky, in spite of his evil
reputation, seldom goes to extremes."

"Tommy does, however," says Mrs. Monkton tritely.

"Well--I'll look after him."

And so perhaps she might have done, had not a light step sounding just
behind her chair at this moment caused her to start--to look round--to
forget all but what she now sees.

He is