"Never," replies 'Duke; "you shall give us dinner in any earthly style you choose, always provided you let us have a good one. There!"

"And Parsons will see to that," I say, partially consoled, drawing my breath more lightly.

"Now, whom shall we ask?" says 'Duke, seating himself, and drawing out a pencil and pocket-book with an air of business, while I look over his shoulder. "Harriet is staying with old Sir William at present, but next week she will be free. She will come, and James. I am so anxious you should meet each other."

"Oh, Marmaduke, what shall I do if your sister does not like me? It would make me so miserable if she disapproved of me in any way."

"Your modesty, my dear, is quite refreshing in this brazen age. Of course, if Harriet expresses disapprobation of my choice, I shall sue for a divorce."

I pinch his ear, and perch myself comfortably on the arm of his chair.

"Is she anything like you?"

"You could hardly find a greater contrast, I should say, in every way. She is extremely fair--quite a blonde--not much taller than you are, and rather fat. She has a considerable amount of spirit, and keeps Sir James in great order; while I am a dejected being, tyrannized over by the veriest little shrew that ever breathed."

"I like that. But from what you say she must be a terrible person."

"Then my description belies her. Harriet is very charming and a general favorite. As for Sir James, he simply adores her. I dare say she will bring Bebe with her."

"Who is Bebe?"

"Bebe Beatoun? Oh, Handcock's niece, and Harriet's 'most cherished.' Fortunately, her mother is at present in Italy, so she can't come, which is lucky for us all, as she is a dame terrible. Then we must ask Blanche Going."

"Oh, must you ask her?" I exclaim, discontentedly. "I don't think I quite like her; she is so supercilious, and seems to consider me so--so young."

"Is that a fault? I never met any one with such a veneration for age as you have. I tell you, Phyllis, there is nothing on earth so desirable as youth. Be glad of it while you have it; it never lasts. I dare say Blanche herself would not mind taking a little of it off your hands, if--she only could."

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