"Mr. Dimbal is very kind to save me the trouble of announcing myself," said Mallow' dryly. "So unimportant a person as I am should feel much flattered." "No friend is unimportant, Mr. Mallow," reproved Miss Bellairs, gently. "I believe that--when there is something substantial to be gained from the friendship." "What a cruel remark!" cried Tui, shaking her head. "I hope you do not practise what you preach, Mr. Mallow." "Mallow's bark is worse than his bite," chimed in Aldean. "And the horse is the noblest of all animals," said Mallow' ironically. "Go on, Aldean; I love these dry chips from the tree of knowledge." "The Hebrew tree of knowledge was stolen by them from the Chaldeans," said Miss Slarge, loudly. "The serpent legend, so intimately connected with it, came from the same source. Well, young people, I must really return to my studies. Lord Aldean--Mr. Mallow; I hope you will both stay to luncheon?" Aldean consulted Mallow by a side look, but seeing no encouragement in his moody face refused the invitation on behalf of them both; whereat Miss Slarge shook hands in the nineteenth-century fashion, and returned to her studies and the primæval days when Nimrod began to be a mighty one on the earth. The four young people were left standing, and a short silence prevailed, which was broken by Mallow. "'Hence, loathed melancholy!'" he spouted theatrically; "we have had enough of that dismal goddess. Miss Bellairs, smile; Aldean, make a joke; Miss Ostergaard, laugh for goodness' sake." "I can't," replied the last-named lady, "until Lord Aldean makes his joke. One can't make bricks without straw or mirth without jests." "I always have to think out my jokes," said Aldean, innocently; which remark brought forth the required mirth. "You are like the man whose impromptus took him years to invent," said Olive, beginning to be merry. "Mr. Mallow, what is the latest news from town?" "Men are in love; thieves are in gaol, and women still use looking-glasses." "Also Queen Anne is dead," laughed Tui, swinging her basket. "Oysters and news should both be fresh, yet you talk truisms." "Have you heard of that awful murder?" put in Aldean. "Murder! Oh, the horrid word, you make me shudder!" "Aldean is like the fat boy in Pickwick," said Mallow, and quoted, "I wants to make your flesh creep.'" "Is that the Athelstane Place crime, Lord Aldean?" asked Olive. "Yes. Fellow was killed with a knitting-needle. I wonder who did it?" "A woman, you may be sure." "What makes you think so, Miss Bellairs?" demanded Mallow, quickly. "Because men don't use knitting-needles, and women do," replied the girl. "I dare say it was a case of jealousy." "Perhaps; but even a jealous woman would hesitate to cut off the right hand of a dead lover." "Unless she came from the East," said Aldean, suddenly. "Why should she come from the East?" "Well, the _Morning Planet_ says that the man came from India."