k, fallen in love
with the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton of blessed memory. But what do
you think happened? It's enough to cure a body, that it is."

"Well, what?" asked nurse.

"I dreamt of no man in the creation except John there. If that isn't
enough to make a body sick, and to cure all their romance once and for
ever, my name ain't Betty Snowden."

John laughed and turned a dull red at this unexpected ending to Betty's
story.

"Now let's clean up," she said; "and don't twit me any more about my
dreams. They were shattered, so to speak, in the moment of victory."

The children were called in, particularly Briar and Patty, and the room
was made quite fresh and sweet, the carpet taken up, the floor scrubbed,
a new rug (bought long ago for the auspicious moment) put down, white
curtains hung at the windows in place of the dreadful old moreen, every
book dusted and put in its place, and the papers piled up in orderly
fashion on a wagonette which was moved into the room for the purpose.
Finally the children and servants gazed around them with an air of
appreciation.

"He can't help liking it," said Briar.

"I wonder if he will," said Patty.

"What nonsense, Patty! Father is human, after all, and we have not
disturbed one single blessed thing."

Soon wheels were heard, and the children rushed out to greet their
returning parent.

"How is Pauline, father?" asked Briar in an anxious voice.

"Pauline?" replied Mr. Dale, pushing his thin hand abstractedly through
his thin locks. "What of her? Isn't she here?"

"Nonsense, father!" said Patty. "You went to see her. She was very ill;
she was nearly drowned. You know all about it. Wake up, dad, and tell us
how she is."

"To be sure," said Mr. Dale. "I quite recall the circumstance now. Your
sister is much better. I left her in bed, a little flushed, but looking
very well and pretty. Pauline promises to be quite a pretty girl. She has
improved wonderfully of late. Verena was there, too, and Pen, and your
good aunt. Yes, I saw them all. Comfortable lodgings enough for those who
don't care for books. From what I saw of your sister she did not seem to
be at all seriously ill, and I cannot imagine why I was summoned. Don't
keep me now, my dears; I must get back to my work. The formation of that
last sentence from Plato's celebrated treatise doesn't please me. It
lacks the extreme polish of the original. My dear Briar, how you stare!
There is no possible reason, Bria