Mr. and Mrs. Sellars did not appear to have “hit it off” together. Could one wonder: Mrs. Sellars with an uncle on the Stock Exchange, and Mr. Sellars with one on Peckham Rye? I gathered his calling to have been, chiefly, “three shies a penny.” Mrs. Sellars was now, however, happily dead; and if no other good thing had come out of the catastrophe, it had determined Miss Sellars to take warning by her mother's error and avoid connection with the lowly born. She it was who, with my help, would lift the family back again to its proper position in society. “It used to be a joke against me,” explained Miss Sellars, “heven when I was quite a child. I never could tolerate anything low. Why, one day when I was only seven years old, what do you think happened?” I confessed my inability to guess. “Well, I'll tell you,” said Miss Sellars; “it'll just show you. Uncle Joseph--that was father's uncle, you understand?” I assured Miss Sellars that the point was fixed in my mind. “Well, one day when he came to see us he takes a cocoanut out of his pocket and offers it to me. 'Thank you,' I says; 'I don't heat cocoanuts that have been shied at by just anybody and missed!' It made him so wild. After that,” explained Miss Sellars, “they used to call me at home the Princess of Wales.” I murmured it was a pretty fancy. “Some people,” replied Miss Sellars, with a giggle, “says it fits me; but, of course, that's only their nonsense.” Not knowing what to reply, I remained silent, which appeared to somewhat disappoint Miss Sellars. Out of the Clapham Road we turned into a by-street of two-storeyed houses. “You'll come in and have a bit of supper?” suggested Miss Sellars. “Mar's quite hanxious to see you.” I found sufficient courage to say I was not feeling well, and would much rather return home. “Oh, but you must just come in for five minutes, dear. It'll look so funny if you don't. I told 'em we was coming.” “I would really rather not,” I urged; “some other evening.” I felt a presentiment, I confided to her, that on this particular evening I should not shine to advantage. “Oh, you mustn't be so shy,” said Miss Sellars. “I don't like shy fellows--not too shy. That's silly.” And Miss Sellars took my arm with a decided grip, making it clear to me that escape could be obtained only by an unseemly struggle in the street; not being prepared for which, I meekly yielded. We knocked at the door of one of the small houses, Miss Sellars retaining her hold upon me until it had been opened to us by a lank young man in his shirt-sleeves and closed behind us. “Don't gentlemen wear coats of a hevening nowadays?” asked Miss Sellars, tartly, of the lank young man. “New fashion just come in?” “I don't know what gentlemen wear in the evening or what they don't,” retorted the lank young man, who appeared to be in an aggressive mood. “If I can find one in this street, I'll ast him and let you know.”