“I hate 'em, too,” said John William wilfully. “Then I'll thank you to keep your hates to yourselves,” cried Mrs. T. “It's very rude of you both. Your mother wouldn't have spoke so, Missy!” “Wouldn't she!” laughed the girl. “I wonder if you know much about my mother? But after that I think I'll be off to bed. I am rude, I know I am, but I never pretended to be anything else.” This was fired back at them from the door, and then Missy was gone without saying good-night. “She's not like her mother,” said Mrs. T. angrily; “no, that she isn't!” “But why in the name of fortune go and tell her so?” John William blurted out. “I never knew anything like you, mother; on Christmas Eve, too!” “I think,” said David gently, “that Missy is not quite herself. She has been very excitable all day, and I think it would have been better to have taken no notice of what she said. You should remember, my dear, that she is utterly unused to our climate, and that even to us these last few days have been very trying.” Arabella was the only one who had nothing at all to say, either for Missy or against her. But she went to Missy's room a little later, and there she spoke out: “You thought it was—Stanborough! I saw you did.” “Then I did—for the moment. But it was very silly of me—I don't know what could have put him into my head, when I've settled him so finely for good and all!” “God bless you, Missy! But—but do you think there is any fear of him coming back and walking right in like that?” “Not the least. Still, if he did—if he did, mark you—I'd tackle him again as soon as look at him. So never you fear, my girl, you leave him to me.” CHAPTER XI.—A CHRISTMAS OFFERING. In the Melbourne shops that Christmas Eve the younger Teesdale had been perpetrating untold acts of extravagance, for two of which a certain very bad character was entirely and solely responsible. Thus with next day's Christmas dinner there was a bottle of champagne, and the healths of Mr. and Mrs. Oliver, and of Miriam their daughter, were drunk successively, and with separate honours. Missy thereat seemed to suffer somewhat from her private feelings, as indeed she did suffer, but those feelings were not exactly what they were suspected to be at the time. She was wondering how much longer she could keep up this criminal pretence and act this infamous part. And as she wondered, a delirious recklessness overcame her, and emptying her glass she jumped to her feet to confess to them all then and there; but the astonished eye of Mrs. Teesdale went like cold steel to her heart, and she wished them long life and prosperity instead. She found herself seated once more with a hammering heart and sensations that drove her to stare hard at the old woman's unsympathetic face, as her own one chance of remaining cool till the end of the meal. And yet a worse moment was to follow hard upon the last.