ers attentions to Trix in the preceding season, nor did it
escape the rest of us (who had talked over the said attentions at the
club) when she told us about it, and announced that Lord Newhaven would
arrive in the middle of next day. Trix affected dense unconsciousness;
her mother allowed herself a mysterious smile--which, however, speedily
vanished when the curate (he was taking lunch with us) observed in a
cheerful tone, "Newhaven! oh, I remember the chap at the
House--ploughed twice in Smalls--stumpy fellow, isn't he? Not a bad
chap, though, you know, barring his looks. I'm glad he's coming."

"You won't be soon, young man," Lady Queenborough's angry eye seemed to
say.

"I remember him," pursued Jack, "awfully smitten with a tobacconist's
daughter in the Corn--oh, it's all right, Lady Queenborough--she
wouldn't look at him."

This quasi-apology was called forth by the fact of Lady Queenborough
pushing back her chair and making for the door. It did not at all
appease her to hear of the scorn of the tobacconist's daughter. She
glared sternly at Jack, and disappeared. He turned to Trix and reminded
her--without diffidence and coram populo, as his habit was, that she
had promised him a stroll in the west wood.

What happened on that stroll I do not know; but meeting Miss Trix on
the stairs later in the afternoon, I ventured to remark, "I hope you
broke it to him gently, Miss Queenborough?"

"I don't know what you mean," replied Trix, haughtily.

"You were out nearly two hours," said I.

"Were we?" asked Trix with a start. "Good gracious! Where was mamma,
Mr. Wynne?"

"On the lawn--watch in hand."

Miss Trix went slowly upstairs, and there is not the least doubt that
something serious passed between her and her mother, for both of them
were in the most atrocious of humors that evening; fortunately the
curate was not there. He had a Bible class.

The next day Lord Newhaven arrived. I found him on the lawn when I
strolled up, after a spell of letter-writing, about four o'clock.
Lawn-tennis was the order of the day, and we were all in flannels.

"Oh, here's Mark," cried Dora, seeing me.

"Now, Mark, you and Mr. Ives had better play against Trix and Lord
Newhaven. That'll make a very good set."

"No, no, Mrs. Polton," said Jack Ives. "They wouldn't have a chance.
Look here, I'll play with Miss Queenborough against Lord Newhaven and
Wynne."

Newhaven--whose appearance, by the way, though hardly distinguishe