The singing of the lamb, incautiously exploited on the platform, to Sheila’s ecstasy, caused considerable dislocation of railway business. A crowd collected to see the gaunt, scholarly Englishman holding the apocalyptic beast in his arms, all intent on the rapture of the tiny flower-like thing standing open-mouthed before him. Even porters forgot to say “_Faites attention_,” and stopped their barrows, to listen to the magic song and view the unprecedented spectacle. It was only when the lamb bleated his last note that Quixtus became conscious of his surroundings. “Good heavens!” said he. “Do it again,” said Sheila, in her clear contralto, whereat the bystanders laughed. “Not for anything in the world, my dear. Tommy, take the infernal thing. My dear,” said he, lifting Sheila in his arms, “if I know anything of Tommy, he will have that tune going for the next seven hours.” She allowed herself to be carried in seraphic content to the entrance of the car in which was the compartment reserved for the party. Tommy carrying the lamb, Clementina and Etta followed. “That kid’s a wonder,” said Tommy. “She would creep into the heart of a parsnip.” Clementina, to whom the remark was addressed, walked three or four steps in silence. Then she said: “Tommy, if I hear you say a thing like that again, I’ll box your ears.” He stared at her in amazement. He had paid a spontaneous and sincere tribute to the child over whom she had gone crazy. What more could she want? She moved a step in advance, leaving him free to justify himself with Etta, who agreed with him in the proposition that Clementina for the last two days was in a very cranky mood. Very natural, the proposition of the two innocents. How could they divine that the moisture in Clementina’s eyes had nothing whatsoever to do with Sheila’s appreciation of the vocal lamb or her readiness to be carried by Quixtus? How could they divine that, at the possibility of which the cruelty and insolence of youth would have caused them both to shriek with inextinguishable laughter? And how was Tommy, generous-hearted lad that he was, to know that this one unperceptive speech of his sent him hurtling out of the land of Romance down to common earth? Henceforward Tommy, whilst retaining his chamber in Clementina’s heart, was to walk in and out just as he chose. Not the tiniest pang was he again to cause her. But what could Tommy know—what can you or I or any other male thing ever born know of a woman? We walk, good easy men; with confident and careless tread through the familiar garden, and then suddenly terra firma miraculously ceases to exist, and head-over-heels we go down a precipice. How came it that we were unaware of its existence? _Mystère!_ Who could interpret the soul of La Giaconda? Leonardo da Vinci least of all. It is all very well to give a man a vote; he is a transparent animal, and you know the way the dunderhead is going to use it; but the