They started shortly after Jem Hardy had left his office, despite the fact that Mrs. Kybird, who was troubled with asthma, was suffering untold agonies in a black satin dress which had been originally made for a much smaller woman, and had come into her husband’s hands in the way of business. It got into hers in what the defrauded Mr. Kybird considered an extremely unbusinesslike manner, and it was not without a certain amount of satisfaction that he regarded her discomfiture as the party sallied out. Mr. Nugent was not happy. Mrs. Kybird in the snug seclusion of the back parlour was one thing; Mrs. Kybird in black satin at its utmost tension and a circular hat set with sable ostrich plumes nodding in the breeze was another. He felt that the public eye was upon them and that it twinkled. His gaze wandered from mother to daughter. “What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Kybird, pertly. “I was thinking how well you are looking,” was the reply. Miss Kybird smiled. She had hoisted some daring colours, but she was of a bold type and carried them fairly well. “If I ’ad the woman what made this dress ’ere,” gasped Mrs. Kybird, as she stopped with her hand on her side, “I’d give her a bit o’ my mind.” “I never saw you look so well in anything before, ma,” said her daughter. Mrs. Kybird smiled faintly and continued her pilgrimage. Jem Hardy coming up rapidly behind composed his amused features and stepped into the road to pass. “Halloa, Hardy,” said Nugent. “Going home?” “I am calling on your sister,” said Hardy, bowing. “By Jove, so are we,” said Nugent, relieved to find this friend in need. “We’ll go together. You know Mrs. Kybird and Miss Kybird? That is Mrs. Kybird.” Mrs. Kybird bade him “Go along, do,” and acknowledged the introduction with as stately a bow as the black satin would permit, and before the dazed Jem quite knew how it all happened he was leading the way with Mrs. Kybird, while the young people, as she called them, followed behind. “We ain’t looking at you,” she said, playfully, over her shoulder. “And we’re trying to shut our eyes to your goings on,” retorted Nugent. Mrs. Kybird stopped and, with a half-turn, playfully reached for him with her umbrella. The exertion and the joke combined took the remnant of her breath away, and she stood still, panting. “You had better take Hardy’s arm, I think,” said Nugent, with affected solicitude. “It’s my breath,” explained Mrs. Kybird, turning to the fuming young man by her side. “I can ’ardly get along for it—I’m much obliged to you, I’m sure.” [Illustration: “Mr. Hardy resigned himself to his fate.”]