The Simpsons, clad in the smartest of evening cloaks, were addressing a few parting remarks to Jessie, when Mr. and Mrs. Taylor took, so to speak, the middle of the stage. Mrs. Taylor had turned up her olive-green silk skirt and pinned it in a bunch round her waist. Over this she wore a black circular waterproof from which emerged a pair of remarkably thin legs ending in snow-boots. An aged black bonnet--"my prayer-meeting bonnet" she would have described it--crowned her head. They advanced arm in arm till they stood right in front of their host and hostess, then Mr. Taylor made a speech. "A remarkably successful evenin', Mrs. Thomson, as I'm sure everybody'll admit. You've entertained us well; you've fed us sumptuous; you've----" "Now, Mr. Taylor," Mrs. Thomson interrupted, "you'll fair affront us. It's you we've to thank for coming, and singing, and I'm sure I hope you'll be none the worse of all--there, there, are you really going? Well, good night. I'm sure it's real nice to see you and Mrs. Taylor always so affectionate--isn't it, Papa?" "That's so," agreed Mr. Thomson. "Mrs. Thomson," said Mr. Taylor solemnly, "me and my spouse are sweethearts still." Mrs. Taylor looked coyly downwards, murmuring what sounded like "Aay-he"; then, with her left hand (her right hand being held by her lover-like husband), she seized Mrs. Thomson's hand and squeezed it. "I'll hear on Sabbath if ye're the worse of it," she said hopefully. "It's been real nice, but I sneezed twice in the bedroom, so I doubt I've got a tich of cold. But I'll go home and steam my head, and that'll mebbe take it in time." "Yer cab has came," Annie, the servant, whispered hoarsely to Elizabeth. "Thank you," said Elizabeth. Then a thought struck her: "Mrs. Taylor, won't you let me drive you both home? I pass your door. Do let me." "I'm sure, Miss Seton, you're very kind," said Mrs. Taylor. "Thoughtful, right enough," said her husband; and, amid a chorus of good nights, Elizabeth and the Taylors went out into the night. Half an hour later the exhausted Thomson family sat in their dining-room. They had not been idle, for Mrs. Thomson believed in doing at once things that had to be done. Mr. Thomson and Robert had carried away the intruding chairs, and taken the "leaf" out of the table. Jessie had put all the left-over cakes into a tin box, and folded away the tablecloth and d'oyleys. Mrs. Thomson had herself carefully counted and arranged her best cups and saucers in their own cupboard, and was now busy counting the fruit knives and forks and teaspoons. "Only twenty-three! Surely Annie's niver let a teaspoon go down the sink." "Have a sangwich, Mamma," said her husband. "The spoon'll turn up." Mrs. Thomson took a sandwich and sat down on a chair. "Well," she said slowly, "we've had them, and we'll not need to have them for a long time again." "It's been a great success," said Mr. Thomson, taking a mouthful of lemonade. "Eh, Jessie?"