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care about, and he is far too much of a gentleman to break it off, though he's in love quite another way with Daphne.'

Just at that moment the door opened and my aunt entered.

'Why, where's Daphne?' she cried, looking about her and arranging her black lace shawl.

'She has just run out into Westbourne Grove to get some gloves and a flower for the fete this evening,' Hilda answered. Then she added, significantly, 'Mr. Holsworthy has gone with her.'

'What? That boy's been here again?'

'Yes, Lady Tepping. He called to see Daphne.'

My aunt turned to me with an aggrieved tone. It is a peculiarity of my aunt's—I have met it elsewhere—that if she is angry with Jones, and Jones is not present, she assumes a tone of injured asperity on his account towards Brown or Smith, or any other innocent person whom she happens to be addressing. 'Now, this is really too bad, Hubert,' she burst out, as if I were the culprit. 'Disgraceful! Abominable! I'm sure I can't make out what the young fellow means by it. Here he comes dangling after Daphne every day and all day long—and never once says whether he means anything by it or not. In my young days, such conduct as that would not have been considered respectable.'

I nodded and beamed benignly.

'Well, why don't you answer me?' my aunt went on, warming up. 'Do you mean to tell me you think his behaviour respectful to a nice girl in Daphne's position?'

'My dear aunt,' I answered. 'you confound the persons. I am not Mr. Holsworthy. I decline responsibility for him. I meet him here, in your house, for the first time this morning.'