y to bring files of the latest magazines with her
to picnics!

She delved instantly into her memory to try to help him; another woman
might have chosen the moment to sulk, offended at his tone.

"It came on Thursday," she said, "I remember tearing a page out to make
a boat for Muffie--I meant to have torn an advertisement page, but found
later it had part of a story of yours on it."

"What was the tale called?"

"_The Hypocrites._"

"And my signature to it?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Great heavens, girl, don't you see what your carelessness has done?
You've sent that confounded woman's tale to the editor as my work!"

Kate was forced gently to remind him that he had enclosed the MS himself
in an envelope and addressed it to a typist with instructions to forward
to the _Review_.

Hugh sat down chapfallen. "What a fool I am!" he groaned. "The tale was
unspeakable. It is enough to ruin any reputation. And Wilkie's not the
man to retract either; he'll tell me the mistake's my own and I'll have
to grin and bear the ignominy."

"And that poor girl," said Kate--"her story lost to her! No wonder I
couldn't find her MS. I meant to have made you hunt for it to-day, but
this picnic put it out of my head."

And now Hugh gave a sudden roar of laughter.

"By George, K," he said, "don't you see the shrieking humour of the
situation? The woman thinks I've boned her precious story. That's why
she has been treating me with such cold dignity. Oh, hold me up, hold me
up, I feel ill!"

But soon his hilarity sobered. The situation also had a pathetic side.
He remembered the quiet shining of the authoress's eyes when she gave
him the unfortunate roll of MS. What must she be thinking of him?

"K," he said, "I'm going down at once to explain to Miss Bibby."

"But what will Dora and Beatrice say?" said Kate doubtfully.

"Oh, hang Dora and Beatrice," said their gallant host, "you'll have to
make an excuse for me. Besides, Agnes Bibby is as much my guest as they
are. I'll eat my chicken down there and my strawberries up here. You've
sent everything down for them, haven't you."

"Everything," said K.

"Champagne?"

"Oh no--Miss Bibby does not touch such things, I know."

"Give me a bottle of champagne?"

Kate handed him one and he tucked it under his arm.

"Forgive my spleen, old girl," he said, his hand held out. "I fear
there's a good deal of the unvarnished brute in me."

"Yes, you want a tamer, my boy," said Kate, squee