I subsided, murmuring feebly. John was gazing moodily at the fire. "So that's that," said Cecilia cheerfully, resting her hand softly on his shoulder. "And _you_'d better be thinking what to say to make the jolly old farmers stump up, my dear." John cleared his throat. "I've--er--decided not to come to the concert, dear," he said. "Don't be ridiculous, John," said Cecilia, cooing like a covey (or whatever it is) of doves. "Of course you're coming. I've arranged it all." "I think I'd rather stop at home, dear," he said; "I can--er--look after Christopher and--er--there's a bit of work I have to finish." "Christopher will be in bed, and your old work can wait, just as it always has to." "Well, you know, darling," said John, looking furtively at Margery and me, "I'm not much use at these social affairs. I always say the wrong thing." "I know you do, dear," said Cecilia sweetly; "but they've all heard you before, and nobody minds." She paused a moment while John gulped. "So that's settled, isn't it?" she said. John gulped again. * * * * * [Illustration: WHITSUN AUCTION AT OUR BOARDING-HOUSE. _Ruffled Veteran (whose partner has not led her suit against a "three no-trumps"). "Not Having (realises the enormity of her offence)_--ER--ER--PLAYED THE GAME BEFORE, PARTNER?"] * * * * * TO A DENTIST. ["Dry champagne is an excellent mouth-wash."--_Dr. SIM WALLACE, at a Conference on Prevention of Diseases of the Teeth._] While in your dismal _salle d'attente_ I wait And with forgotten _Punches_ idly toy, How it will reconcile me to my fate To muse upon the mouth-wash you employ. Or, squirming in the plush-upholstered chair, How shall I thrill with valour to observe Among the implements of torture there A magnum of the best, to brace my nerve. Not the hooked probe nor hum of whirring file, The fearful forceps nor the needled lance Will wholly banish my expectant smile That greets "the foaming grape of eastern France." E'en in that pass whereat the boldest blench, The "aching time" will quickly turn to bliss, When, having borne the devastating wrench, I hear you murmur, "Rinse your mouth with this." I thank you, Dr. WALLACE, for that word; My teeth, I'm sure, require attention soon; Ah! Widow CLICQUOT, how my heart is stirred! Appointment? Right. To-morrow afternoon. * * * * * [Illustration: AT THE OPERA. _First Patroness of Art._ "BUT WHY COME HERE IF IT BORES YOU SO?" _Second ditto._ "MY DEAR! ONE MUST OCCUPY ONESELF SOMEHOW AFTER DINNER TILL IT'S TIME TO GO SOMEWHERE."] * * * * * MEETING THE COUNTESS. "Could you find time to meet the Countess of Aire?" inquired the Vicar's wife with her gracious smile, after we had chanced together at a corner of our village street. "At five o'clock," she added, "at the cross-roads."