“I wish,” Mrs. Daye ejaculated mentally, “that I had been brought up to manage daughters.” What she said aloud, with the effect of being forced to do so, was that Rhoda had also apparently forgotten that her sister Lettice was to come out next year. Before the gravity of this proposition Mrs. Daye sank into the nearest chair. And the expense, with new frocks for Darjiling, would be really—— “All the arguments familiar to the pages of the _Family Herald_,” the girl retorted, a dash of bitterness in her amusement, “‘with a little store of maxims, preaching down a daughter’s heart!’ Aren’t you ashamed, mummie! But you needn’t worry about that. I’ll go back to England and live with Aunt Jane: she dotes on me. Or I’ll enter the Calcutta Medical College and qualify as a lady-doctor. I shouldn’t like the cutting up, though—I really shouldn’t.” “Rhoda, _tu me fais mal_! If you could only be serious for five minutes together. I suppose you have some absurd idea that Mr. Ancram is not sufficiently—demonstrative. But that will all come in due time, dear.” The girl laughed so uncontrollably that Mrs. Daye suspected herself of an unconscious witticism, and reflected a compromising smile. “You think I could win his affections afterwards. Oh! I should despair of it. You have no idea how coy he is, mummie!” Mrs. Daye made a little grimace of sympathy, and threw up her eyes and her hands. They laughed together, and then the elder lady said with severity that her daughter was positively indecorous. “Nothing could have been more devoted than his conduct yesterday afternoon. ‘How ridiculously happy,’ was what Mrs. St. George said—‘how ridiculously happy those two are!’” Mrs. Daye had become argumentative and plaintive. She imparted the impression that if there was another point of view—which she doubted—she was willing to take it. “Oh! no doubt it was evident enough,” Rhoda said tranquilly: “we had both been let off a bad bargain. An afternoon I shall always remember with pleasure.” “Then you have actually done it—broken with him!” “Yes.” “Irrevocably?” “Very much so.” “_Do_ tell me how he took it!” “Calmly. With admirable fortitude. It occupied altogether about ten minutes, with digressions. I’ve never kept any of his notes—he doesn’t write clever notes—and you know I’ve always refused to wear a ring. So there was nothing to return except Buzz, which wouldn’t have been fair to Buzz. It won’t make a scandal, will it, my keeping Buzz? He’s quite a changed dog since I’ve had him, and I love him for himself alone. He doesn’t look in the least,” Rhoda added, thoughtfully regarding the terrier curled up on the sofa, who turned his brown eyes on her and wagged his tail without moving, “like a Secretariat puppy.” “And is that all?” “That’s all—practically.”