Compelled to find their amusements within doors, Dopsy and Mopsy sat in the morning-room for half an hour, as a sacrifice to good manners, paid a duty visit to the nurseries to admire Christabel's baby-boy, and then straggled off to the billiard-room, to play each other, and improve their skill at that delightfully masculine game. Then came luncheon--at which meal, the gentlemen being all away, and the party reduced to four, the baby-boy was allowed to sit on his mother's lap, and make occasional raids upon the table furniture, while the Miss Vandeleurs made believe to worship him. He was a lovely boy, with big blue eyes, wide with wonder at a world which was still full of delight and novelty. After luncheon, Mopsy and Dopsy retired to their chamber, to concoct, by an ingenious process of re-organization of the same atoms, a new costume for the evening; and as they sat at their work, twisting and undoing bows and lace, and straightening the leaves of artificial flowers, they again discoursed somewhat dejectedly of their return to South Belgravia, which could hardly be staved off much longer. "We have had a quite too delicious time," sighed Mopsy, adjusting the stalk of a sunflower; "but it's rather a pity that all the men staying here have been detrimentals--not one worth catching." "What does it matter!" ejaculated Dopsy. "If there had been one worth catching, he wouldn't have consented to be caught. He would have behaved like that big jack Mr. Tregonell was trying for the other morning; eaten up all our bait and gone and sulked among the weeds." "Well, I'd have had a try for him, anyhow," said Mopsy, defiantly, leaning her elbow on the dressing-table, and contemplating herself deliberately in the glass. "Oh, Dop, how old I'm getting. I almost hate the daylight: it makes one look so hideous." Yet neither Dopsy nor Mopsy thought herself hideous at afternoon tea-time, when, with complexions improved by the powder puff, eyebrows piquantly accentuated with Indian ink, and loose flowing tea-gowns of old gold sateen, and older black silk, they descended to the library, eager to do execution even on detrimentals. The men's voices sounded loud in the hall, as the two girls came downstairs. "Hope you have had a good time?" cried Mopsy, in cheerful soprano tones. "Splendid. I'm afraid Tregonell has lamed a couple of his horses," said Captain Vandeleur. "And I've a shrewd suspicion that you've lamed a third," interjected Leonard in his strident tones. "You galloped Betsy Baker at a murderous rate." "Nothing like taking them fast down hill," retorted Jack. "B. B. is as sound as a roach--and quite as ugly." "Never saw such break-neck work in my life," said Mr. Montagu, a small dandified person who was always called "little Monty." "I'd rather ride a horse with the Quorn for a week than in this country for a day." "Our country is as God made it," answered Leonard. "I think Satan must have split it about a bit afterwards," said Mr. Montagu.