“He’s in the Guards,” said Jack at last. “The Guards that have the white tails on their heads, you know, and ride down Portland Place of a morning.” “He belongs to mammy,” said Boo, by way of additional identification; she was a lovely little fresh dewdrop of childhood only just four years old, but she had a sparkle of malice and meaning in her tone and her eyes, of which her brother was innocent. “Oh, indeed,” murmured Mrs. Massarene, more and more embarrassed; for ought she knew, it might be the habit for ladies in the great world to have an officer of the Guards attached to their service. Jack looked critically at the strange lady. “Don’t ’oo know people?” he asked; this poor old fat woman seemed to him very forlorn and friendless. “I don’t know many people as yet, my lord,” murmured their victim humbly. “Is ’oo a cook or a nurse?” said Jack, with his head on one side, surveying her with puzzled compassion. “My dear little sir!” cried Mrs. Massarene, horrified. “Why, gracious me! I’m a lady.” Jack burst out laughing. “Oh, no, ’oo isn’t,” he said decidedly. “Ladies don’t say they’s ladies.” Boo twitched his hand to remind him of the ultimate object of their mission. Mrs. Massarene had never more cruelly felt how utterly she was “nobody” at her first Drawing-room, than she felt it now under the merciless eyes of these chicks. Boo pulled Jack’s sleeve. “She won’t give us nothin’ else if ’oo tease her,” she whispered in his rosy ear. Jack shook her off. “P’r’aps we’re rude,” he said remorsefully to his victim. “We’s sorry if we’ve vexed ’oo.” “And does ’oo want the little box mammy gived back to ’oo?” said Boo desperately, perceiving that her brother would never attack this main question. Over the plain broad flat face of the poor plebian there passed a gleam of intelligence, and a shadow of disappointment. It was only for sake of the golden box that these little angels had smilingly blocked her road! She brought out the _bonbonnière_ at once from her pocket. “Pray take it and keep it, my little lady,” she said to Boo, who required no second bidding; and after a moment’s hesitation Mrs. Massarene took out of her purse a new Napoleon. “Would you please, my lord,” she murmured, pushing the bright coin into Jack’s fingers. Jack colored. He was tempted to take the money; he had spent his last money two days before, and the Napoleon would buy a little cannon for which his heart pined; a real cannon which would load with real little shells. But something indefinite in his mind shrank from taking a stranger’s money. He put his hands behind his back. “Thanks, very much,” he said resolutely, “but please, no; I’d rather not.” She pressed it on him warmly, but he was obstinate. “No, thanks,” he said twice. “’Oo’s very kind,” he added courteously. “But I don’t know ’oo, and I’d rather not.” And he adhered to his refusal. He could not have put his sentiment into words, but he had a temper which his sister had not.