ng; Mrs. Kybird in black satin at its utmost tension
and a circular hat set with sable ostrich plumes nodding in the breeze
was another. He felt that the public eye was upon them and that it
twinkled. His gaze wandered from mother to daughter.

"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Kybird, pertly.

"I was thinking how well you are looking," was the reply.

Miss Kybird smiled. She had hoisted some daring colours, but she was of
a bold type and carried them fairly well.

"If I 'ad the woman what made this dress 'ere," gasped Mrs. Kybird, as
she stopped with her hand on her side, "I'd give her a bit o' my mind."

"I never saw you look so well in anything before, ma," said her daughter.

Mrs. Kybird smiled faintly and continued her pilgrimage. Jem Hardy
coming up rapidly behind composed his amused features and stepped into
the road to pass.

"Halloa, Hardy," said Nugent. "Going home?"

"I am calling on your sister," said Hardy, bowing.

"By Jove, so are we," said Nugent, relieved to find this friend in need.
"We'll go together. You know Mrs. Kybird and Miss Kybird? That is Mrs.
Kybird."

Mrs. Kybird bade him "Go along, do," and acknowledged the introduction
with as stately a bow as the black satin would permit, and before the
dazed Jem quite knew how it all happened he was leading the way with Mrs.
Kybird, while the young people, as she called them, followed behind.

"We ain't looking at you," she said, playfully, over her shoulder.

"And we're trying to shut our eyes to your goings on," retorted Nugent.

Mrs. Kybird stopped and, with a half-turn, play-fully reached for him
with her umbrella. The exertion and the joke combined took the remnant
of her breath away, and she stood still, panting.

"You had better take Hardy's arm, I think," said Nugent, with affected
solicitude.

"It's my breath," explained Mrs. Kybird, turning to the fuming young man
by her side. "I can 'ardly get along for it--I'm much obliged to you,
I'm sure."

Mr. Hardy, with a vain attempt to catch Jack Nugent's eye, resigned
himself to his fate, and with his fair burden on his arm walked with
painful slowness towards Equator Lodge. A ribald voice from the other
side of the road, addressing his companion as "Mother Kybird," told her
not to hug the man, and a small boy whom they met loudly asseverated his
firm intention of going straight off to tell Mr. Kybird.

[Illustration: "Mr. Hardy resigned himself to his fate."]

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