"Maude, how can you be so foolish?" cried her ladyship. "You have encouraged those men about till it's quite dreadful: we never have any peace." "Poor fellows!" said Maude, "they seem very glad of a few pence, and they are far away from home." "Yes," said her ladyship, "where they ought to be sent back." "I remember once," said Lord Barmouth, "in the old days when they used to have moving figures dancing in front of their organs, one of Lady Betty Lorimer's daughters actually got--he, he, he! carrying on a clandestine correspondence with one of those handsome vagabonds." Maude looked at her father in a startled way. "Barmouth, be silent," cried her ladyship, as the butler entered the room with a fresh present upon a tray. "Robbins," she said, "go downstairs and tell that man that he will be given into custody if he does not go away directly. Tell him some one is ill,"--for just then a fresh strain was ground out in a most doleful fashion, and Maude began softly humming the air to herself as she gazed down, still in the man's handsome face. "Some one ill, my lady?" "Yes; I am ill. You should have sent him away without orders." "I did try to dismiss him, my lady, when he came," said the butler. "Well, and what did he say?" "Only smiled, my lady." "But did you say that the police should be sent to him?" "Yes, my lady, but he only smiled the more; and then," continued the butler, lowering his voice as he glanced at where Maude stood outside, "he pointed up to the drawing-room window here, and wouldn't go. If you please, my lady," he continued in an undertone, "he never will go while Lady Maude gives him money." "That will do: go away," said her ladyship, sighing; and Lord Barmouth got up and toddled towards the window to look down and elicit a fresh series of bows from the Italian, who kept on playing till the window was closed, when he directed his attention to the area, where a couple of the maids were looking up at him, ready to giggle and make signs to him to alter the tune. Tom came back into the drawing-room just as her ladyship had closed the window and sent Lord Barmouth back to a chair, where he sat down to rub his leg. Tryphie came back a few minutes later to glance timidly at her aunt, who, however, thought it better to ignore the past for the time being, fully meaning, though, to take up poor Tryphie's case when her mind was more free. "Will you come and see the dress that has just come in?" said Tryphie to Maude, who was sitting gazing dreamily out of the window. "No," she said, "no." "My dear child," cried her ladyship, "pray, pray take a little interest in your dresses." "I cannot, mamma," cried Maude, passionately. "I have not the heart." "Bah, Maude!" cried Tom, "be a trump, I say. When you are married and have got your establishment, I'd jolly soon let some one know who was mistress then."