"Oh--it is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! Verona. If you will sit down before the glass, I will clasp your pearls round your neck, and then you are ready. Now, what do you think mother did to-day?" Verona shook her head in hopeless ignorance. Her mother did so many things--she resembled a little black ant, and was never idle. "You know she is awfully mad that Dominga was not invited, especially as Mr. Young is going, so she wrote a note over to Mrs. Lepell to ask her if she could possibly squeeze in Dominga anywhere? The answer came back in two minutes to say that Mrs. Lepell was extremely sorry, but the number of her guests was quite complete." Verona, listening to this little tale, blushed for her mother to the roots of her hair. At this moment the door of the verandah was burst open, and Mrs. Chandos herself appeared; she looked both angry and excited. "My! whatt ages you have been," she declared, as she surveyed Verona's toilette with glittering, malevolent eyes. "I was helping Nicky with his sums, and I forgot the time. I am afraid I am a little late." "I am afraid you will be _very_ late," cried Mrs. Chandos, with a queer, hysterical laugh, and she suddenly swept a pail of water from behind her dress, and deluged her unfortunate daughter from head to foot. At first the shock was such that Verona could do nothing but gasp, and gasp; then, to the amazement of the spectators, she burst out laughing. What an object she was! the water streaming down her hair and nose, and a pool in her lap, her gown a mere soaked rag. Verona's laugh was an inspiration! If for days she had been preparing an effective retort to her mother's malicious action, she could not have hit the mark more cleverly. Mrs. Chandos stood disarmed, astounded, humiliated. "I am afraid I shall now be very late indeed," said Verona as she rose, dripping from head to foot, and looked at her parent with extraordinary composure, "so late that it will not be worth my while to go at all. If you will all kindly retire, I should like to change my wet clothes." Without a single word Mrs. Chandos slunk out, bucket in hand, but Pussy lingered to profess her sympathy and dismay. "Now, what can you say? Oh, you must send an excuse?" she enquired, with an awestruck face. "You can say I have had a severe wetting," rejoined Verona. In her heart of hearts she was not sorry to be compelled to remain at home. These local gatherings had nothing to offer her but pain and humiliation. "A severe wetting!" cried Pussy, "they will not believe it. There has been no rain for weeks!" "I cannot help that," retorted her sister, "but if you want to make it appear plausible, you may add that I have gone to bed." Pussy sat down and scrawled off the following note: "Dear Mrs. Lepell,-- "_Please_ excuse Verona. She has had a _bad_ wetting, and is gone to _bed_. "Believe me,