"Call it pink, as the English do their hunting-coats," suggested he, smiling. "But such a dear, _good_ girl, you quite forgot that she wasn't exactly handsome" ("No, not precisely," interjected he) "when you came to know her." "That I _never_ did. It might as a speculation have done to get a cast of her face for andirons to keep the American child from falling into the fire; but _marry her_! Good Lord! When I eat anything now that disagrees with me, I dream of Emily's mouth," affirmed Mr. Ketchum, with the most laughing mirth in his eyes, his mobile features expressing volumes. "Her mouth _was_ large, and her teeth _a little_ prominent. But you shall not abuse Emily any more. You would have been very happy with her, I can tell you," asserted Mrs. Ketchum. "You would have got over her mouth." "I might in time have got _around_ it, and I could easily have got _into_ it, but I should never have got _over_ it in the world," affirmed Mr. Ketchum, with decision. "I would rather be married to that Puseyite there, unhappy as I am." This closed the little duel between the mother and son, and another laugh drowned Mabel's remark to Miss Noel, which was, "Husband is in one of his joking moods, and does not mean that he is _really_ unhappy at all. He should not say such things, they are so very misleading." When quiet was restored, a discussion followed about the parties in the English Church, and, the question being raised as to who was the head of the Low Church party, Mr. Ketchum had just said, "Why, _Lucifer_, of course," when, amid general merriment, Miss Brown walked in, saying, "I never heard of such an uproarious Sunday party. Are you ready, Ethel? We ought to be off,"--which practically ended the meal, for first Mr. Ramsay and then the others left the table, he to talk to Bijou, they to get ready for church. Job's eyes followed Mr. Ramsay, and he said to Sir Robert, "What a charming girl Mrs. De Witt was in the old Cheltenham days! Heathcote didn't make the landing there, and I'm sorry." "So am I. She is an immense favorite of mine," said Sir Robert. "As charming as ever! It was a more serious thing than I thought it would be. I doubt whether he ever marries." "She was a born enchantress, Jenny was," he replied. "Some women are like poison oak,--once get them in your system, and they will break out on you every spring for fifty years, if you live that long, fresh and painful as ever. But as for his marrying, some one of our girls will enter for the Consolation stakes, very likely, and he will be married before he knows what has hurt him." "A consummation devoutly to be wished," said Sir Robert. "He is my heir, you know."