"I can," returns Miss L'Estrange, presenting an uncompromising front. "I can also suggest to you that those lumps of sugar are meant to put in the cups with the tea, not to be consumed wholesale. Sugar, plain, is ruinous to the stomach and disastrous to the teeth." "True, true," says Mr. Browne, absently, "and both mine are so pretty." Miss L'Estrange rises to her feet and confronts him with a stony glare. "Both what?" demands she. "Eh? Why, both of them," persists Mr. Browne. "I think, Richard, that the sooner you return to your hotel, or whatever low haunt you have chosen as your present abode, the better it will be for all present." "Why so?" demands Mr. Browne, indignantly. "What have I done now?" "You know very well, sir," says Miss L'estrange. "Your language is disgraceful. You take an opportunity of turning an innocent remark of mine, a kindly warning, into a ribald----" "Good heavens!" says he, uplifting brows and hands. "I never yet knew it was ribaldry to talk about one's teeth." "You were not talking about your teeth," says Miss L'Estrange sternly. "You said distinctly 'both of them.'" "Just so," says Dicky. "I've only got two." "Is that the truth, Richard?" with increasing majesty. "Honest Injun," says Mr. Browne, unabashed. "And they are out of sight. All you can see have been purchased, and I assure you, dear Miss L'Estrange," with anxious earnestness, "paid for. One guinea the entire set; a single tooth, two-and-six. Who'd be without 'em?" "Well, I'm sorry to hear it," says Miss L'Estrange reseating herself and regarding him still with manifest distrust. "To lose one's teeth so early in life speaks badly for one's moral conduct. Anyhow, I shan't allow you to destroy your guinea's worth. I shall remove temptation from your path." Lifting the sugar bowl she removes it to her right side, thus laying bare the fact that Mr. Browne's cup of tea is still full to the brim. It is the last stroke. "Drink your tea," says she to the stricken Dicky in a tone that admits of no delay. He drinks it. Meantime, Barbara has been very kind to Felix Dysart, answering his roundabout questions that always have Joyce as their central meaning. One leading remark of his is to the effect that he is covered with astonishment to find her and Monkton in London. Is he surprised. Well, no doubt, yes. Joyce is in town, too, but she has not come out with her to-day. Have they been to the theatre? Very often; Joyce, especially, is quite devoted to it. Do they go much to the picture galleries? Well, to one or two. There is so much to be done, and the children are rather exigeant, and demand all the afternoon. But she had heard Joyce say that she was going to-morrow to Dore's Gallery. She thought Tommy ought to be shown something more improving than clowns and wild animals and toy shops. Mr. Dysart, at this point, said he thought Miss Kavanagh was more reflective than one taking a careless view of her might believe. Barbara laughed.