feel quite nice and conceited again. It’s so long since I’ve felt conceited! I’m ever and ever so much obliged. Can you stay on a little longer, dear, or are you in a hurry to get back?”

“No! I shall get a scolding anyway, so I might as well have all the fling I can get. I’ll have tea with you and the boys, and a little private chat with Jack afterwards. You won’t mind leaving us alone for a few minutes? It’s something about Ron, but I won’t promise not to get in a little flirtation on my own account.”

Jack’s wife laughed happily.

“Flirt away—it will cheer him up! I’ll put the boys to bed, and give you a fine opportunity. Here they come, back from their walk. I must hurry, dear, and cut bread and butter. I’ll carry down the hat, and put it on when Jack comes in.”

Aunt Margot’s appearance at tea was hailed with a somewhat qualified approval.

“You must talk to us, mother,” Jim said sternly; “talk properly, not only, ‘Yes, dear,’ ‘No, dear,’ like you do sometimes, and then go on speaking to her about what we can’t understand. She’s had you all afternoon!”

“So I have, Jim. It’s your turn now. What do you want to say?”

Jim immediately lapsed into silence. Having gained his point, he had no remark to offer, but Pat lifted his curly head and asked eagerly—

“Muzzer, shall I ever grow up to be a king?”

“No, my son; little boys like you are never kings.”

“Not if I’m very good, and do what I’m told?”

“No, dear, not even then. No one can be a king unless his father is a king, too, or some very, very great man. What has put that in your head, I wonder? Why do you want to be a king?”

Pat widened his clear grey eyes; the afternoon sunshine shone on his ruffled head, turning his curls to gold, until he looked like some exquisite cherub, too good and beautiful for this wicked world.

“’Cause if I was a king I could take people prisoners and cut off their heads, and stick them upon posts,” he said sweetly; his mother and aunt exchanged horrified glances. Pat alternated between moods of angelic 

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