"I did a shocking, dreadful thing when I was in London. I went to a young man's rooms, and got shut up in his bedroom." "The deuce you did!" says Tom Esterworth, opening his eyes. "Yes," continues Beatrice, desperately, and crimson with shame and confusion; "and the worse of it is, that I left my sunshade in the sitting-room; and papa came in, and, of course, he did not know it was mine, and--and--he thinks--he thinks----" "That's the best joke I ever heard in my life!" cries Mr. Esterworth, laying his head back in the chair and laughing aloud. "Uncle Tom!" Beatrice could hardly believe her ears. "Good lord, what a situation for a comedy!" cries her uncle, between the outbursts of his mirth. "Upon my word, Pussy, you are a good plucked one; there isn't much Miller blood in your veins. You are an Esterworth all over." "But, uncle, indeed, it's no laughing matter." "Well, I don't see much to cry at if your father did not find you out; the young man is never likely to talk." "Oh, but uncle Tom; papa and mamma think so badly of him, and I can't tell them that I was there; and they will never let me marry him." "Oh! so you are in love, Pussy?" "Yes, uncle." Tom Esterworth smote his hand against his corduroy thigh. "What a mistake!" he exclaimed; "a girl who can go across country as you do--what on earth do you want to be married for? Is it Mr. Pryme, Pussy?" Beatrice nodded. "And he can't go a yard," said her uncle, sorrowfully and reproachfully. "Oh, I think he goes very well, uncle; his seat is capital; it is only his hands that are a bit heavy; but then he has had very little practice." "Tut--tut, don't talk to me, child; he is no horseman. He may be a good young man in his way, but what can have made you take a fancy to a fellow who can't ride is a mystery to me! Now tell me the whole story, Pussy." And then Beatrice made a clean breast of it. "I will see if I can help you," said her uncle, seriously, when she had finished her story; "but I can't think how you can have set your heart upon a fellow who can't ride!" This was evidently a far more fatal error in Tom Esterworth's eyes than the other matter of her being shut up in Mr. Pryme's rooms. Beatrice began to think she had not done anything so very terrible after all. "I must turn it over in my mind. Now come and eat your mutton-chop, Pussy, and when we have finished our lunch, you shall come out with me in the dog-cart. I am going to put Clochette into harness for the first time." "Will she go quietly?" "Like a lamb, I should say. You won't be nervous?" "Dear, no! I am never nervous; I shall enjoy the fun."