“You can’t do it,” said I in easy confidence. I had no fear of little Miss Phyllis being done out of her recreations. “Meanwhile,” I pursued, “the important thing is this: my parallel is obvious and complete.” “There’s not the least likeness,” said Mrs. Hilary sharply. “As a hundred pounds are to a shilling, so is the Grand Prix to the young man opposite,” I observed, taking my hat, and holding out my hand to Mrs. Hilary. “I am very angry with you,” she said. “You’ve made the child think there was nothing wrong in it.” “Oh! Nonsense,” said I. “Look how she enjoyed telling it.” Then, not heeding Mrs. Hilary, I launched into an apostrophe. “O, divine House Opposite!” I cried. “Charming House Opposite! If only I might dwell forever in the House Opposite!” “I haven’t the least notion of what you mean,” remarked Mrs. Hilary, stiffly. “I suppose it’s something silly--or worse.” I looked at her in some puzzle. “Have you no longing for the House Opposite?” I asked. Mrs. Hilary looked at me. Her eyes ceased to be absolutely blank. She put her arm through Hilary’s and answered gently-- “I don’t want the House Opposite.” “Ah,” said I, giving my hat a brush, “but maybe you remember the House--when it was Opposite?” Mrs. Hilary, one arm still in Hilary’s, gave me her hand. She blushed and smiled. “Well,” said she, “it was your fault; so I won’t scold Phyllis.” “No, don’t my dear,” said Hilary, with a laugh. As for me, I went downstairs, and, in absence of mind, bade my cabman drive to the House Opposite. But I have never got there. A QUICK CHANGE “Why not go with Archie?” I asked, spreading out my hands. “It will be dull enough, anyhow,” said Dolly, fretfully. “Besides, it’s awfully bourgeois to go to the theater with one’s husband.” “Bourgeois,” I observed, “is an epithet which the riffraff apply to what is respectable, and the aristocracy to what is decent.” “But it’s not a nice thing to be, all the same,” said Dolly, who is impervious to the most penetrating remark. “You’re in no danger of it,” I hastened to assure her. “How should you describe me, then?” she asked, leaning forward, with a smile. “I should describe you, Lady Mickleham,” I replied discreetly, “as being a little lower than the angels.” Dolly’s smile was almost a laugh as she asked: “How much lower, please, Mr. Carter?” “Just by the depth of your dimples,” said I thoughtlessly. Dolly became immensely grave. “I thought,” said she, “that we never mentioned them now, Mr. Carter.” “Did we ever?” I asked innocently. “I seemed to remember once: do you recollect being in very low spirits one evening at Monte?” “I remember being in very low water more than one evening there.” “Yes; you told me you were terribly hard-up.” “There was an election in our division that year,” I remarked, “and I remitted 30 percent of my rents.” “You did--to M. Blanc,” said Dolly. “Oh, and you were very dreary! You said you’d wasted your life and your time and your opportunities.”