"I'm not frightening her. I'm only keeping her quiet," says Tommy defiantly. "Hah-hah!" says Mr. Courtenay vacuously. "How wonderfully unpleasant children can make themselves," says Mrs. Blake, making herself 'wonderfully unpleasant' on the spot. "Your little boy so reminds me of my Reginald. He pulls his sister's hair merely for the fun of hearing her squeal!" "Tommy does not pull Mabel's hair," says Barbara a little stiffly. "Tommy, come here to Mr. Browne; he wants to speak to you." "I want to know if you would like a cat?" says Mr. Browne, drawing Tommy to him. "I don't want a cat like our cat," says Tommy, promptly. "Ours is so small, and her tail is too thin. Lady Baltimore has a nice cat, with a tail like mamma's furry for her neck." "Well, that's the very sort of a cat I can get you if you wish." "But is the cat as big as her tail?" asks Tommy, still careful not to commit himself. "Well, perhaps not quite," says Mr. Browne gravely. "Must it be quite as big?" "I hate small cats," says Tommy. "I want a big one! I want--" pausing to find a suitable simile, and happily remembering the kennel outside--"a regular setter of a cat!" "Ah," says Mr. Browne, "I expect I shall have to telegraph to India for a tiger for you." "A real live tiger?" asks Tommy, with distended eyes and a flutter of wild joy at his heart, the keener that some fear is mingled with it. "A tiger that eats people up?" "A man-eater," says Mr. Browne, solemnly. "It would be the nearest approach I know to the animal you have described. As you won't have the cat that Lady Baltimore will give you, you must only try to put up with mine." "Poor Lady Baltimore!" lisps Mrs. Blake. "What a great deal she has to endure." "Oh, she's all right to-day," returns Mr. Browne, cheerfully. "Toothache any amount better this morning." Mrs. Blake laughs in a little mincing way. "How droll you are," says she. "Ah! if it were only toothache that was the matter But--" silence very effective, and a profound sigh. "Toothache's good enough for me," says Dicky. "I should never dream of asking for more." He glances here at Joyce, and continues sotto voce, "You look as if you had it." "No," returns she innocently. "Mine is neuralgia. A rather worse thing, after all." "Yes. You can get the tooth out," says he. "Have you heard," asks Mrs. Blake, "that Mr. Beauclerk is going to marry that hideous Miss Maliphant. Horrid Manchester person, don't you know! Can't think what Lady Baltimore sees in her"--with a giggle--"her want of beauty. Got rather too much of pretty women I should say." "I'm really afraid," says Dicky, "that somebody has been hoaxing you this time, Mrs. Blake;" genially. "I happen to know for a fact that Miss Maliphant is not going to marry Beauclerk." "Indeed!" snappishly. "Ah, well really he is to be congratulated, I think. Perhaps," with a sharp glance at Joyce, "I mistook the name of the young lady; I certainly heard he was going to be married."