nable dessert, came at last to an end and we ladies were alone in
the drawing-room.

"What do you think of the new importation, mamma?" said Mysie.

I blushed scarlet. For one brief moment I actually thought she was
alluding to me, but I soon found out it was Peter she was talking about.
That did not make me feel any cooler; if possible, I grew redder and
redder.

Lady Sutherland considered a few minutes in a fat, comfortable sort of
way. Then she said, slowly, "Well, dear, he puzzles me a good deal. I
cannot think he has been well trained. He does not wait so cleverly as
the last Peter. Didn't he spill something on your dress, my dear?"
turning to me.

"Oh, that's nothing," I replied, eagerly, twisting my skirt still more
out of shape to hide the huge brown spot. To change the conversation I
went on, "Are all your footmen called Peter?"

[Illustration: "COLONEL WITHERINGTON WITH HIS HAND ON PETERS SHOULDER,
THE PAIR SHAKING WITH LAUGHTER."]

"Yes, at least the second one is." It was Lucy who answered me. "Our
first footman is always called Charles and the second one Peter. Papa
made that arrangement because he got so mixed when we changed servants.
After all, mamma, the new Peter may improve. He can hardly have got over
his journey yet."

I racked my brain for a change of subject. I was so afraid it should
come out that we had travelled together. I was too young to see the
amusing side of it, and was in terror lest Peter himself should reveal
it to the kitchen. With more abruptness than was polite I turned to
Mysie.

"Who was that dark man who sat by you at dinner?" I asked.

She looked a little embarrassed as she replied, "A near neighbour of
ours, Colonel Witherington. We have known him for years and are great
friends; I always like to talk to him, he has so much to say."

"Methinks the lady doth explain too much," was my inward comment. An owl
could see that she was in love with him. (It is true that the owl is the
bird of wisdom.)

After a short interval the gentlemen joined us. They were all evidently
anxious to get home, and ordered their dogcarts (or whatever they had)
as soon as they decently could. Colonel Witherington was the last to go.
He had lingered so long that the butler and the pompous Charles had
retired, leaving only Peter standing in the hall.

"Now don't come out of the warm room, Sir Alexander," said Colonel
Witherington; "I shall manage very well--your man is out here."

Peter no