"Look at _mine_!" says Mr. Browne. "My best hat is done for, and I'm afraid to examine my trousers. _You_ might tell me if there is a big rent anywhere. No? Eh? Well--if you won't I must only risk it. But I feel tattered and torn. By-the-bye, Tommy, that's part of another old story. I'll tell you about it some day." "Come with me, Tommy," says his mother, with awful severity. She holds out her hand to her son, who is still glaring at Dicky with an undying ferocity. "You are a naughty boy, and I'm sure your father will be angry with you when he hears of this." "Oh, but he must not hear of it, must he, Tommy?" says Mr. Browne, with decision, appealing to his late antagonist as airily, as utterly without _arriere pensee_ as though no unpleasant passages have occurred between them. "It's awfully good of you to desire our company, Mrs. Monkton, but really on the whole I think----" "It is Tommy I want," says Mrs. Monkton still with a meaning eye. "Where Tommy goes, I go," says Mr. Browne, firmly. "We are wedded to each other for the day. Nothing shall part us! Neither law nor order. Just now we are going down to the lake to feed the swans with the succulent bun. Will you come with us?" "You are very uncertain, Dicky," says Mrs. Monkton, regarding Mr. Browne with a gravity that savors of disapproval. "How shall I be sure that if you take him to the lake you will not let him drown himself?" "He is far more likely to drown me," says Mr. Browne. "Come along, Tommy, the biscuits are in the hall, and the lake a quarter of a mile away. The day waneth; let us haste--let us haste!" "Where has Dicky gone?" asks Joyce, who has just returned victorious from her game. "To the lake with Tommy. I have been imploring him not to drown my son," says Mrs. Monkton with a rather rueful smile. "Oh, he won't do that. Dicky is erratic, but pretty safe, for all that. And he is fond of Tommy." "He teases him, however, beyond endurance." "That is because he _does_ like him." "A strange conclusion to arrive at, surely," says Dysart, looking at her. "No. If he didn't like him, he wouldn't take the trouble," says she, nonchalantly. She is evidently a little _distrait_. She looks as though she wanted something. "You won your game?" says her sister, smiling at her. "Yes, quite a glorious victory. They had only two games out of the six; and you know Miss Connor plays very well." "Where is Mr. Beauclerk?" "Gone into the house to write some letters and telegrams." "Norman, do you mean?" asks Lady Baltimore, coming up at this moment, her basket full of flowers, and minus the little son and the heiress; "he has just gone into the house to hear Miss Maliphant sing. You know she sings remarkably well, and that last song of Milton Wettings suits her so entirely. Norman is very fond of music. Have you had a game, Joyce?" "Yes, and won it," says Joyce, smiling back at her, though her face has paled a little. _Had_ she won it?