"Gussy," remonstrated Mrs. Charlewood,
looking quite shocked, "don't, my dear. You
shouldn't say such things of people, my love."

"Never mind, mamma," said Penelope,
"thank Heaven, nobody can say of us that
we're strong minded. That's a great blessing.
But if papa really wants to know what particular
oddity Mabel has been guilty of, I think I
can tell him what Augusta means. You know
the little girl that Jackson managed to drive
over on the last day of the festival, papa? We
told you all about it. Well; Mabel Earnshaw
has taken a craze about the child, and has been
to see her."

"Nothing very queer in that; is there?"
asked Mr. Charlewood, dipping a walnut into his
wine.

"Oh, but the child belongs to such dreadful
people," replied Augusta, "and lives in such a
low neighbourhood. New Bridge-street, papa!"

"Oh," said Mr. Charlewood, shortly. He had
reminiscences of still lower neighbourhoods than
New Bridge-street, but he kept them to himself.

"The Flukes told us about it, my dear,"
said Mrs. Charlewood to her husband. "Mabel
has joined them in district visiting for a time,
whilst Eliza is ill. But Miss Fluke says she
fears—she greatly fears—that Mabel 'asn't yet
got real conversion. Well, we can but 'ope
and pray for her. Miss Fluke says she's only
joined to have an opportunity of visiting this
little girl."

"Miss Fluke is the most intolerable fool,"
said Clement, breaking silence for the first time,
and angrily pushing his plate away from him;
"and I wonder at Miss Earnshaw having
anything to do with her."

"Dear old Fluke!" cried Walter, with a
mischievous glance at his sister Augusta. "I
think she's charming. Here's her health, with
three times three. By jingo, she's a clipper, is
Miss Fluke!"

"Really, Watty," observed Augusta, with
dignity, "you take more of that old port than is
good for you, my dear boy."

"As to being a fool, Clem," said Penelope,
rising to follow Mrs. Charlewood out of the
room, and speaking into Clement's ear, as he
held the door open for his mother and sisters
to pass, "Miss Fluke is a fool, of course. But
you can't expect her to be as devoted to Mabel
Earnshaw's beaux yeux as some people are."

"Pshaw!" ejaculated Clement, shutting the
door sharply after the ladies, and walking back
to his place.

"What was that Penny said?" asked Mr.
Charlewood.

"Only nonsense, sir," rejoined Clement,
shortly.

"Penny don't often talk nonsense, either,"
replied his father.

"How modest you are, Clem!" said Walter.
"I declare you're positively blushing! 'Pon my
soul you are! I couldn't do that to save my
life." Walter contemplated his smooth young
face in the bowl of a dessert-spoon with much
self-satisfaction.

"Where are you off to, Watty?" asked Mr.
Charlewood, as his youngest son lounged
towards the door.

"I'm going down to Plumtree's, sir,"
replied the lad, after an instant's hesitation.

"To Plumtree's? Don't overdo Plumtree's,
Watty. I don't like so much billiards. When I
was your age, I didn't know one end of a
cue from the other."

"All right, sir!"

"No, I don't know that it is all right, sir,"
returned his father, irritated by Walter's
nonchalant tone. "You get through a precious
sight of money, as it is, young gentleman, without
helping it off by billiards. Do you ever
consider what an expense you've been to me?
And what a still greater expense you will be if
I buy you a commission, as you are always
plaguing me to do?"

"I suppose you can afford it, sir," said
Walter, sulkily. His manly dignity was giving
place to a very naughty-boy air, as he stood
with his hand on the fastening of the door,
turning it backwards and forwards with a
clicking noise.

"/ don't suppose so, though. Giving you
money is like pouring water into a sieve. I
won't have you hanging about Plumtree's. So
that's flat."

"It's very hard," muttered Walter, almost
whimpering, "to be kept in like a schoolboy.
They'll think me a blessed muff, when I'd
promised particularly to go there to-night, to see
the match between Lord Higsworth's son and
Tiffin of the Carbineers. There's a whole lot of
fellows going from the barracks."

"Lord Higsworth's son?" said Mr. Charlewood.

"Yes, young Skidley," said Walter, eagerly
pursuing his advantage, as he saw his father's
face soften. "And there'll be Captain De
Vaux, and Fitzmaurice, and Plowden, and no
end of tip-top fellows."

"If you promised, Walter," said Mr. Charlewood,
with a moral air, "of course, you are
bound to go. I didn't know you had given
your word. The Honourable Arthur Skidley,
you said?"

"Yes, sir. He and I are as thick as thieves.
He's no end of a brick."

"He may be no end of a brick, but he is
not even the beginning of a gentleman," said
Clement.

Next moment the fragrance of a cigar was
blown across the hall, as the boy opened the
house door, and set off gaily down the avenue.

"Surprising what high friends Watty makes!"
said Mr. Charlewood, when he and his elder
son were alone together.

"I don't like Watty's getting into that set,
sir," said Clement. He is a mere boy, and
his head is always turned by his newest
acquaintances."

"Men of family, Clem," said his father,
moving uneasily in his chair. "Men of family,
and—and—fashion."

"There are blackguards to be found in all