Miss Augusta was given to saying: “Sister Lois is so light-minded.” For the younger Miss Ingoldsby was short and plump, dimpled and inclined to laugh on any provocation. It was easy to see that Miss Augusta, as usual, was right. Miss Lois was so far from serious that upon those occasions when Miss Augusta reproved her for levity she took this as a pretext for still more giggling. Miss Lois cared not at all for causes. She cared not a snap of her fingers for anything which might force her to be low in her mind, as she called an ascent into higher realms of thought. Quite properly, Miss Augusta’s jutting chin put into disrepute Miss Lois’ modest sliding contour. “My dear Mrs. Avery,” advanced Miss Augusta after a pause during which she marshalled her reasons for having brought about this conference, “we felt that it might be advisable to discuss what can be done about poor Nicholas and--poor--Eva. You young people are so apt to be heedless until the mischief is wrought.” I endeavoured not to grimace over the tea. It was sweetened, and made more detestable by the addition of cream. “But surely you can’t be so gracious as to call us ‘young people’?” “Young to me,” said Miss Augusta airily. “Young to me.” It was in this spirit of throwing a rosy and dissembling glow over the gathering, I make no doubt, that she had invited the one man. Mr. Tappan Tillinghast strolled in to give us the support and the stabilizing weight of his presence. He was strikingly elegant, as always, and, as always, he had in evidence his one defect, to which his friends were accustomed but which instantly drew the eye of a stranger. With all Mr. Tappan Tillinghast’s refined taste in dress, with all his care of his person, his collars invariably appeared to be too large for his neck. This was because one looked for a prominent Adam’s apple and failed to find it. From Mr. Tappan Tillinghast’s head to his feet there could be discovered no protuberance. His legs were long and straight and thin, his waist, even at his age, was thin. He was the envy of younger men because it gave him no trouble to remain without curves. One might have fancied that he had at one time in his life been subjected to a lengthy drying-out process in the tropics, although he had never been known to venture into warm climates. Everything about him was contradictory: he looked as if he had no blood in his veins, and he had never been known to suffer from the cold; he spoke with the chilliest of intonations, and inside he glowed with romance; he gave the impression of having had his springs of being dammed at the source, and for all of his conscious existence he had adored the elder Miss Ingoldsby. One had to acknowledge that his pale blue eyes looked as if they had been washed too often, but a quizzical expression lurked behind their parchment lids. His grey hair was never rampant; one could easily believe that it had grown from his infant head in the same