These like remorse inveterate memories, Being of cabbage, are prophetic too Of future feasts, when Mrs. Cloudesley Shove Will still recall lamented Cloudesley. Still Among the moonlit cedars Philomel Calls back to mind, again, again, The ancient pain, the everlasting pain; And still inveterately the haunted air Remembers and foretells that roses were Red and to-morrow will again be red, But, “Cloudesley, Cloudesley!” Philomel in vain Sobs on the night; for Cloudesley Shove is dead.... And in the flesh, as though irresistibly summoned by my incantation, Mrs. Cloudesley Shove blackens the doorway with her widowhood. “Not a very naice day,” says Mrs. Cloudesley, as she sits down. “Not at all,” Miss Carruthers heartily agrees. And then, without turning from the beef, without abating for an instant the celerity of her carving, “Fluffy!” she shouts through the increasing din, “don’t giggle like that.” Politely Mr. Chelifer half raises himself from his chair as Miss Fluffy comes tumbling, on the tail end of her giggle, into the chair next to his. Always the perfect gent. “I wasn’t giggling, Miss Carruthers,” Fluffy protests. Her smile reveals above the roots of her teeth a line of almost bloodless gums. “Quite true,” says young Mr. Brimstone, following her less tumultuously from the door and establishing himself in the seat opposite, next to Mrs. Cloudesley. “She wasn’t giggling. She was merely cachinnating.” Everybody laughs uproariously, even Miss Carruthers, though she does not cease to carve. Mr. Brimstone remains perfectly grave. Behind his rimless pince-nez there is hardly so much as a twinkle. As for Miss Fluffy, she fairly collapses. “What a horrible man!” she screams through her laughter, as soon as she has breath enough to be articulate. And picking up her bread, she makes as though she were going to throw it across the table in Mr. Brimstone’s face. Mr. Brimstone holds up a finger. “Now you be careful,” he admonishes. “If you don’t behave, you’ll be put in the corner and sent to bed without your supper.” There is a renewal of laughter. Miss Carruthers intervenes. “Now don’t tease her, Mr. Brimstone.” “Tease?” says Mr. Brimstone, in the tone of one who has been misjudged. “But I was only applying moral suasion, Miss Carruthers.” Inimitable Brimstone! He is the life and soul of Miss Carruthers’s establishment. So serious, so clever, such an alert young city man—but withal so exquisitely waggish, so gallant! To see him with Fluffy—it’s as good as a play.