n my uncle first!"

"I suppose it's too late now," said Dunn, with a kind of gloomy
wistfulness.

"Yes, I fear so," said Miss Brodie. "You see when my uncle makes up his
mind he appears to have some religious scruples against changing it."

"It was a ghastly mistake," said Dunn bitterly.

"Look here, Mr. Dunn," said Miss Brodie, turning upon him suddenly, "I
want your straight opinion. Do you think this young man guilty?"

They were both looking at Cameron, at that moment the centre of a group
of open admirers, his boyish face all aglow with animation. For the
time being it seemed as if he had forgotten the terrible catastrophe
overhanging him.

"If I hadn't known Cameron for three years," replied Dunn slowly, "I
would say offhand that this thing would be impossible to him; but you
see you never know what a man in drink will do. Cameron can carry a
bottle of Scotch without a stagger, but of course it knocks his head
all to pieces. I mean, he is quite incapable of anything like clear
thought."

"It is truly terrible," said Miss Brodie. "I wish I had known yesterday,
but those men have spoilt it all. But here's 'Lily' Laughton," she
continued hurriedly, "coming for his dance." As she spoke a youth of
willowy figure, languishing dark eyes and ladylike manner drew near.

"Well, here you are at last! What a hunt I have had! I am quite
exhausted, I assure you," cried the youth, fanning himself with his
handkerchief. "And though you have quite forgotten it, this is our
dance. What can you two have been talking about? But why ask? There is
only one theme upon which you could become so terrifically serious."

"And what is that, pray? Browning?" inquired Miss Brodie sweetly.

"Dear Miss Brodie, if you only would, but--ugh!--" here "Lily"
shuddered, "I can in fancy picture the gory scene in which you have been
revelling for the last hour!" And "Lily's" handsome face and languid,
liquid eyes indicated his horror. It was "Lily's" constant declaration
that he "positively loathed" football, although his persistent
attendance at all the great matches rather belied this declaration. "It
is the one thing in you, Miss Bessie, that I deplore, 'the fly in the
pot--' no, 'the flaw--' ah, that's better--'the flaw in the matchless
pearl.'"

"How sweet of you," murmured Miss Brodie.

"Yes, indeed," continued "Lily," wreathing his tapering fingers, "it is
your devotion to those so-called athletic games,--games! ye gods!--the
chief