estion about him, I feel sure. He was sitting in front
of a _Daily Telegraph_ propped up on the teapot, and some cold, untasted
sole on his plate.

I came forward. He looked very surprised.

"I--I'm Evangeline Travers," I announced.

He said "How d'you do?" awkwardly. One could see without a notion what
that meant.

"I'm staying here," I continued. "Did you not know?"

"Then won't you have some breakfast? Beastly cold, I fear," politeness
forced him to utter. "No, Ianthe never writes to me. I had not heard any
news for a fortnight, and I have not seen her yet."

Manners have been drummed into me from early youth, so I said, politely,
"You only arrived from Paris late last night, did you not?"

"I got in about seven o'clock, I think," he replied.

"We had to leave so early--we were going to the opera," I said.

"A Wagner that begins at unearthly hours, I suppose?" he murmured,
absently.

"No, it was 'Carmen,' but we dined first with my--my--guardian, Mr.
Carruthers."

"Oh!"

We both ate for a little. The tea was greenish black--and lukewarm. No
wonder he has dyspepsia.

"Are the children in, I wonder?" he hazarded, presently.

"Yes," I said. "I went to the nursery and saw them as I came down."

At that moment the three angels burst into the room, but came forward
decorously and embraced their parent. They do not seem to adore him as
they do Lady Ver.

"Good-morning, papa," said the eldest, and the other two repeated it in
chorus. "We hope you have slept well and had a nice passage across the
sea."

They evidently had been drilled outside.

Then, nature getting uppermost, they patted him patronizingly.

"Daddie, darling, have you brought us any new dolls from Paris?"

"And I want one with red hair, like Evangeline," said Yseult, the
youngest.

Sir Charles seemed bored and uncomfortable; he kissed his three exquisite
bits of Dresden china, so like and yet unlike himself--they have Lady
Ver's complexion, but brown eyes and golden hair like his.

"Yes; ask Harbottle for the packages," he said. "I have no time to talk to
you. Tell your mother I will be in for lunch," and making excuses to me
for leaving so abruptly--an appointment in the City--he shuffled out of
the room.

I wonder how Lady Ver makes his heart beat! I _don't_ wonder she
prefers--Lord Robert.

"Why is papa's nose so red?" said Yseult.

"Hush!" implored Mildred. "Poor papa has come off the sea."

"I don't love papa," said Cori