and get altogether beyond control."

"Oh, that is all very well," I say, feeling inclined to cry, "but you will be out shooting all day, and I will be left at home to speak to them. I don't mind the men so much, but the women will be dreadful."

This last sentence appears to afford Marmaduke the liveliest amusement. He laughs until I begin to feel really hurt at his want of sympathy.

"You don't care for me," I cry, with petulant reproach, "or you would not try to make me so unhappy."

"My darling child, how can you say so? Unhappy! because a few people are kind enough to come and pay you a visit. You say I do not 'care for you' because I ask you to be civil to two or three women!" Here he laughs again a little, though evidently against his will. "Oh, Phyllis! if you are going to cry I will not say another word about it. Come, look up, my pet, and I promise to forget our friends for this autumn at least. We will spend it by ourselves; though I must confess"--regretfully--"it seems to me a sin to leave all those birds in peace. Now are you satisfied?"

But I am not: I am only ashamed of myself. Is this childish fear of strangers the proper spirit for a grown-up married woman to betray? I dry my eyes and make a secret determination to go through with it, no matter what it costs me.

"No, no," I say, heroically; "let them come. It is very stupid of me to feel nervous about it. I dare say I shall like them all immensely when they are once here; and--and--perhaps they too will like me."

"Small doubt of that," says my husband, heartily. "I only hope the men won't get beyond the liking. Phyllis, you are a darling, and when they leave us you shall tell me how tremendously you enjoyed it all."

I am not sufficient hypocrite to coincide with this hopeful idea. I kill a sigh before I next speak.

"Duke," I say, with faltering tongue, "must I sit at the head of the table?"

"Of course," again visibly amused. "Surely you would not like to sit at the bottom?"

"No," with deep dejection; "one is as bad as the other. In either place I shall be horribly conspicuous." Then, after a brief hesitation, and with a decided tendency to fawn upon him, "Marmaduke, we will have all the things handed round; won't we, now? I shall never have anything to carve, shall I?"

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