“Oh, you belong to Bootles. I am sure he must be very proud of you,” Madame answered. “I believe I’m a great bother to him,” Miss Mignon announced, in a matter-of-fact tone. Bootles laughed. “Come to the fire, Madame,” he said. Then turning to Miss Grace, “I’m sure you are very cold—you are as white as a ghost. I’m sure,” addressing Lady Marion, “Aunt Marion, wine would be much better than this tea.” “No, no; tea,” they cried—at least the two elder ladies, for Miss Grace seemed to have no ears for any one but the child. “Won’t you speak to me?” she asked, presently, as Miss Mignon gravely regarded her with her big blue eyes. Miss Mignon went close to her immediately. “Did Bootles let you drive?” she asked, with interest. Miss Grace shook her head, and lifted Miss Mignon onto her knee. “I did not ask him,” she said. “Oh!” Then, after a pause, “I al—ways do.” “But not a pair?” in surprise. Miss Mignon nodded. “When they’re not too fresh. Bootles would have letted you, if you’d asked him.” “I will another time.” “Lacy,” said Bootles, suddenly, “is it true about Allardyce?” “Hartog says so. They say she—er—dwrinks like a duck.” “Pooh!” But Bootles laughed as if it was a great joke, and Mrs. Smith begged to be enlightened. “Oh! don’t you remember Allardyce? He’s the great military teetotal light.” “And—er—he wreally is an AWFUL duf-fah,” remarked Miss Mignon, in so exact and so unconscious an imitation of Lacy’s drawl that her hearers went off into fits of laughter, and Miss Grace, clasping her close to her breast, bent, and kissed the luxuriant golden curls. “You’re crying,” said Miss Mignon, promptly, scanning Miss Grace’s face with her big eyes. “No; but you made me laugh,” she said, hastily. “Some people do cry when they laugh,” Miss Mignon informed her. “Our colonel does. Now Major Garnet always chokes, and then Bootles thumps him. I don’t know what he’ll do,” she added, in a tone of deep concern, “if he chokes while we are away.” “I never saw such an original little piece of mischief in my life,” cried Mrs. Smith. “And how charmingly dressed—is she not, Madame? So sensible of you to cover her up with that warm serge up to her throat and down to her wrists. Who put you up to it?” “I fancy we evolved the idea among us. You see she runs in and out of my rooms, her own, and Mrs. Gray’s, the adjutant’s wife, that is,” Bootles answered. “And barrack corridors are not exactly hot-houses. Besides, our doctor keeps his eye on her, and he blames the wrapping-up for her never having a day’s illness.” “I believe in it,” asserted Mrs. Smith. “And I—oh! our married ladies tell me I am quite an authority on the subject. I can tell you we get fearfully chaffed about her, Lacy and I.” “Why?” Miss Grace asked.