prone to, there will be always one or two left to carry on
your name. And my aunt won't LET me forget it; she will always be
asking 'Have the Tarringtons had their mice?' and questions of that
sort. She says if you keep wild creatures in captivity you ought to
see after their wants, and of course she's quite right there."

"I met you at luncheon at your aunt's house once--" broke in Mr.
Tarrington, pale but still resolute.

"My aunt never lunches," said Clovis; "she belongs to the National
Anti-Luncheon League, which is doing quite a lot of good work in a
quiet, unobtrusive way. A subscription of half a crown per quarter
entitles you to go without ninety-two luncheons."

"This must be something new," exclaimed Tarrington.

"It's the same aunt that I've always had," said Clovis coldly.

"I perfectly well remember meeting you at a luncheon-party given by
your aunt," persisted Tarrington, who was beginning to flush an
unhealthy shade of mottled pink.

"What was there for lunch?" asked Clovis.

"Oh, well, I don't remember that--"

"How nice of you to remember my aunt when you can no longer recall the
names of the things you ate. Now my memory works quite differently. I
can remember a menu long after I've forgotten the hostess that
accompanied it. When I was seven years old I recollect being given a
peach at a garden-party by some Duchess or other; I can't remember a
thing about her, except that I imagine our acquaintance must have been
of the slightest, as she called me a 'nice little boy,' but I have
unfading memories of that peach. It was one of those exuberant peaches
that meet you halfway, so to speak, and are all over you in a moment.
It was a beautiful unspoiled product of a hothouse, and yet it managed
quite successfully to give itself the airs of a compote. You had to
bite it and imbibe it at the same time. To me there has always been
something charming and mystic in the thought of that delicate velvet
globe of fruit, slowly ripening and warming to perfection through the
long summer days and perfumed nights, and then coming suddenly athwart
my life in the supreme moment of its existence. I can never forget it,
even if I wished to. And when I had devoured all that was edible of
it, there still remained the stone, which a heedless, thoughtless child
would doubtless have thrown away; I put it down the neck of a young
friend who was wearing a very DECOLLETE sailor suit. I told him it was
a scorpion,