"But I don't think I ought to play with them. I'm sure Mrs. Alison would rather they went to bed very quietly to-night. You'd better say that we've both had to go out to dinner. Oh, and, nurse, it would be as well not to let Mac go into the nursery or schoolroom. He seems to be turning savage. Poor old dog, he was my first present to your mistress before we were married." "So I've heard my mistress say, sir. Poor old dog! Dear me, it's always one thing on top of another, as they say. And I'm sure I've passed the remark a score of times that it never rains but what it pours." "Good night, nurse." "Good night, sir. I'll see that the children keep very quiet. I was going to give Miss Muriel and Master Geoffrey both a dose of medicine to-morrow night, and they may jee-ust as well have it to-night." Mr. Alison dressed in a state of astonishment at himself. "I can't think what made me so suddenly decide to dine out," he exclaimed aloud. "Talking to myself now," he continued. "I'm thoroughly upset. That's what I am. It's a good thing I _am_ going out." A few minutes later he was walking briskly down Campden Hill, conscious of the perfume of autumnal trees, vaguely excited by the sound of the distant traffic in Kensington High Street that with every step became more distinct. It was a mistake to coop oneself up too much. He was falling into the habit of thinking that the day was over when he sat back in the railway carriage and opened the _St. James's Gazette_. He ought to be careful. What was that he was reading the other day about keeping young by refusing to be old? How true! It was the fault of marriage. Yes, marriage was responsible. Bachelors did not grow old. Responsibility, that was what did it. How free, for instance, he felt to-night just because Mary had sent word that she was not coming home. The message had annoyed him just at first; but now he was on the whole rather glad. The street lamps were twinkling; there must be a touch of frost in the air. So much the better. Far more healthy than the muggy weather they had been having. By Jove, the crispness made one feel ten years younger. Where should he go to-night? Dinner at the Savoy? Rather late perhaps for that. Why not a few oysters with half a pint of champagne, and then a theater followed by supper? A theater? Perhaps it was hardly the thing to go to a theater to-night. No, he would dine at the Savoy. "Hansom! Savoy!" "Right you are, sir." "And you can drive fairly fast. I'm in a hurry." It was a comfortable hansom behind a good horse; and Jemmie Alison, once again the authentic Jemmie, leaning forward over the apron gazed out at the glittering life he had too long forsaken. * * * * *