ecret fraternity, enjoying strange delights and
responding with shrieks to unintelligible catchwords.

To-night the talk was more than usually disjointed, owing to the
regrettable absence of Hortense. There was constant jumping up, infinite
"passing." Mr. Tee Wee, manipulating the water-pitcher from the
side-table, complained aside to his mother at the universal thirst.
Chas, it seemed, had charge of the heating-up of the later crops of
biscuits: he kept springing off to the kitchen, now and then returning
with a heaping platter of what he called his little brown beauties.

In the midst of the confusion, Hen strode in, looking somewhat defiant,
and instantly drew the fires of all.

"How're the little patients, Hen? Number 9 looked pretty sick to me
this--"

"Best thing I know is running 'em up and down the hall, and then brisk
massage--"

"Gargled 'em yet, Hen?"

Hen, laughing wildly, stood her ground.

"That's all right!" she retorted to the last sally, which happened to be
Chas's. "There are swains in this town who might boost their standing a
little if only _they'd_ patronize the florist once in a while!"

This drew loud approbation, and Chas (who was understood to be very
attentive to a Miss Leither--_Leither!_--of the Woman's Exchange),
laughing with the majority, threw up his hands, saying,
"Hellup! Hellup!"

He fled to the kitchen to look after his little brown beauties. The
noisy supper proceeded. Presently Major Cooney, the easy-going and
reminiscent, gave the conversation a new tack.

"And where are your violets, Cally, my dear?" he asked, directing one of
his mischievous winks at Looloo. "You must have a flower-shop full at
home, if what we hear is true."

Carlisle, on the point of saying something slightly caustic about Chas
as a swain, found the tables abruptly turned. All the Cooneys were
looking at her. She said with equanimity that, on the contrary, she got
so few flowers that when she did have any, she sat up at night with them
just like Hen.

"And I'll wear 'em to the Masons' to-morrow night, too!" said Hen,
throwing round a look which challenged contradiction.

"Now, cousin, what's the use?" said Chas, reentering with his platter.
"The Visitor is giving you the rush of your young life, and we're all
on. Take a handful of my beauties."

"You mean Mr. Canning? My dear Chas, if he only were!"

There was no rebuffing the Cooneys. They began their little third-degree
system.

"He call