"Mrs. Purcell's letter," said Carson, with a glance of proprietorship. "Miss Slarge has promised to read aloud the character which her sister is so good as to give me." "It is a better one than you deserve," replied Olive. "Ha, ha!" roared Drabble, who was a noisy creature at best, "isn't his character to your liking, Miss Bellairs?" "If it is not," said Carson, before the girl had time to answer, "Olive shall make it to her liking in two months." Miss Ostergaard, who had joined the group, laughed. "Can an old dog learn new tricks?" she said mischeviously. "A young puppy might," muttered Mallow, whose hot Irish temper was rapidly rising, both at Carson and at Olive. He was enraged at the mere fact of the man calling the girl by her Christian name, and he was annoyed at the complacent way in which she seemed to listen to him and his babble. Luckily for the peace of the moment, his remark passed unheard by all save Tui, and she nodded approbation. "What ridiculous things you say, Tui," said Olive, with pretended severity. "Extraordinary name, 'Tui,'" called out Drabble, elegantly. "What does it mean, Miss Ostergaard?" "It means me, in the first place, Dr. Drabble," she replied smartly; "and in the second it is the native name for the New Zealand parson bird." "By George, parson bird!" "Why rookery, Miss Ostergaard? or, to be more precise, why parson bird?" "Because it is all black, Mr. Mallow--a beautiful glossy black, with two white feathers in its throat like a parson's cravat. We have christened it the parson bird; the Maoris call it the Tui." "It is inappropriate to you, Miss Ostergaard," said Carson, smiling. "You never preach, I am sure." "Oh yes, I do; but I keep my sermons for Olive." "Ho, ho! I should like to be a member of that congregation." "As an Anarchist, Dr. Drabble, you are not fit to be a member of any. You don't like preaching--other people's preaching, I mean." "That depends upon the preacher, Miss Ostergaard." "Madame Death-in-Life, for instance." With a snarl Drabble turned on Mallow, who had made this remark. "What do you know of Madame Death-in-Life?" he snapped. "Only that she is the most noted Anarchist in Europe," retorted Mallow, coolly. "Why not? I know her, you know her, the police know her; and a few stray kings will know her some day to their cost, if she isn't guillotined--as she ought to be.' "I wonder you know such a horrible woman, Mr. Mallow," said Olive. "Oh, my acquaintance with her is not personal, Miss Bellairs." "Neither is mine," said Drabble, who had recovered his good humour. "I don't approve of Madame Death-in-Life's methods. It is not my plan to terrorize the world by bombs and murders. The pen, sir, the pen is mightier than the explosive; so is the tongue. Pamphlets and lectures--that is my system for bringing about the much-needed social millennium. The woman you speak of does harm to the cause; she should be suppressed." "Just what I said--and by the guillotine."