“All the tuners, of course,” he replied, rather snappishly. “I know that we cannot do without them; but good heavens! they have no tact, no consideration, no mercy. Whenever I’ve wanted to write or read quietly, that fatal knock has come at the door, and I’ve known by instinct that all chance of peace was over. Whenever I’ve been giving a luncheon party, the tuner has arrived, with his abominable black bag, and his abominable card which has to be signed at once. On one occasion I was just proposing to a girl in her father’s library when the tuner struck up in the drawing-room. I left off suddenly, and fled from the house. But there is no escape from these fiends; I believe they are swarming about in the air like so many bacteria. And how, in the name of goodness, you should deliberately choose to be one of them, and should be so enthusiastic over your work, puzzles me beyond all words. Don’t say that you carry a black bag, and present cards which have to be filled up at the most inconvenient time; don’t--” He stopped suddenly, for the little girl was convulsed with laughter. She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks, and then she dried her eyes and laughed again. “Excuse me,” she said; “I can’t help myself; it’s so funny.” “It may be funny to you,” he said, laughing in spite of himself; “but it is not funny to me.” “Of course it isn’t,” she replied, making a desperate effort to be serious. “Well, tell me something more about these tuners.” “Not another word,” he said, gallantly. “I am ashamed of myself as it is. Come to the end of the garden, and let me show you the view down into the valley.” She had conquered her fit of merriment, but her face wore a settled look of mischief, and she was evidently the possessor of some secret joke. She seemed in capital health and spirits, and had so much to say that was bright and interesting that Oswald Everard found himself becoming reconciled to the whole race of tuners. He was amazed to learn that she had walked all the way from Z----, and quite alone, too. “Oh, I don’t think anything of that,” she said; “I had a splendid time, and I caught four rare butterflies. I would not have missed those for anything. As for the going about by myself, that is a second nature. Besides, I do not belong to any one. That has its advantages, and I suppose its disadvantages; but at present I have only discovered the advantages. The disadvantages will discover themselves!” “I believe you are what the novels call an advanced young woman,” he said. “Perhaps you give lectures on woman’s suffrage, or something of that sort?”