laid on my hand, but I still testified.

“And Loring Chatterton. Not content with steeping their own souls in infamy, they must needs go afield, and corrupt the spotless name of one—oh, Carrie, Carrie, what your poor brother has suffered! And now to be told in his old—his middle—age that he did it all!”

Mrs. Kit and Cicely Vicars had put their heads together, and were endeavouring to put aside the damning testimony in mock admiration of the dramatic skill with which it was uttered. Cicely Vicars had best be very careful. I was to be leaned up in a corner and given tea, was I?

“Doesn’t Mr. Butterfield look well with the light behind him?” said Mrs. Vicars with a pretty gesture of her hand. Mrs. Vicars paints flowers, and asks her friends what they would really like for wedding presents.

“Mr. Butterfield may have the Light behind him, Mrs. Vicars,” I replied, “but he has no regrets for a misspent youth. Charlie Vicars wasted his youth most shamefully. Mornings in the park, with a young lady in a pink frock—is that not so, Mrs. Loring?”

I turned to her suddenly.

“It was a green frock,” said Mrs. Loring thoughtlessly; then turned quite pink. It was a pretty situation. Loring might have treasured that blush. I was avenged.

Millicent Dixon came to the rescue.

“Carrie, dear,” she said, “you are the only one who has any influence over that irrepressible man. Do gag him for a few minutes;” and passed over a plate of gaufrettes, which Carrie brought to me.

I held the plate to Mrs. Loring Chatterton, who, a reminiscence of fun still in her eyes, accepted the peace-offering with a warning shake of her head.

“Mr. Butterfield,” she said, “you never were anything but mischievous, and it’s my opinion you never will be. Oh, I wish I could get you off my hands. There are plenty of nice girls. Look at Millie there,” she whispered.

“Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “once upon a time there was a fox, who was caught in a trap, and had his tail cut off. After that——”

“Ah well, I suppose you know your own mind. But, Mr. Butterfield”—she leaned over, and spoke quite low—“I believe you make out your young days—and Loring’s—to have been much worse than they were. Do you not, now?”

Mrs. Loring had a 

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