burst into and his doors listened at by
inquisitive women—and I say so too. Put that
letter down on the table—unless you want to
open it and read it—put it down, you audacious
woman, and fetch the bill, and tell your
mother we are going to leave the house
directly!"

At this dreadful threat, Miss Mowlem,
who was soft and timid, as well as curious,
by nature, wrung her hands in despair, and
overflowed meekly in a shower of tears.

"O! good gracious Heavens above!"
cried Miss Mowlem, addressing herself
distractedly to the ceiling, "what will mother
say! whatever will become of me now! O,
Mam, I thought I knocked—I did, indeed!
O, Mam! I humbly beg pardon, and I'll
never intrude again. O, Mam! mother's a
widow, and this is the first time we have let
the lodgings, and the furniture's swallowed
up all our money, and, O, Mam! Mam! how
I shall catch it if you go!" Here words
failed Miss Mowlem, and hysterical sobs
pathetically supplied their place.

"Rosamond!" said Mr. Frankland. There
was an accent of sorrow in his voice this
time, as well as an accent of remonstrance.
Rosamond's quick ear caught the alteration
in his tone. As she looked round at him,
her colour changed, her head drooped a little,
and her whole expression altered on the
instant. She stole gently to her husband's
side with softened, saddened eyes, and put
her lips caressingly close to his ear.

"Lenny," she whispered, "have I made
you angry with me?"

"I can't be angry with you, Rosamond,"
was the quiet answer. "I only wish, love,
that you could have controlled yourself a
little sooner."

"I am so sorry—so very, very sorry!" The
fresh, soft lips came closer still to his ear as
they whispered these penitent words; and
the cunning little hand crept up tremblingly
round his neck and began to play with his
hair. "So sorry, and so ashamed of myself!
But it was enough to make almost anybody
angry, just at first—wasn't it, dear? And
you will forgive me—won't you, Lenny?—if
I promise never to behave so badly again?
Never mind that wretched whimpering fool
at the door," said Rosamond, undergoing a
slight relapse as she looked round at Miss
Mowlem, standing immovably repentant
against the wall, with her face buried in a
dingy-white pocket-handkerchief. "I'll make
it up with her; I'll stop her crying; I'll take
her out of the room; I'll do anything in the
world that's kind to her, if you will only
forgive me."

"A polite word or two is all that is wanted
—nothing more than a polite word or two,"
said Mr. Frankland, rather coldly and
constrainedly.

"Don't cry any more, for goodness sake!"
said Rosamond, walking straight up to Miss
Mowlem, and pulling the dingy-white pocket-
handkerchief away from her face without
the least ceremony. "There! leave off, will
you? I am very sorry I was in a passion—
though you had no business to come in without
knocking—I never meant to distress you,
and I'll never say a hard word to you again,
if you will only knock at the door for the
future, and leave off crying now. Do leave
off crying, you tiresome creature! We are
not going away. We don't want your
mother, or the bill, or anything. Here!
here's a present for you, if you'll leave off
crying. Here's my neck-ribbon—I saw you
trying it on yesterday afternoon, when I was
lying down on the bed-room sofa, and you
thought I was asleep. Never mind; I'm
not angry about that. Take the ribbon—
take it as a peace-offering, if you won't as a
present. You shall take it! No, I don't
mean that—I mean, please take it! There
I've pinned it on. And now, shake hands
and be friends, and go up-stairs and see how
it looks in the glass." With these words,
Mrs. Frankland opened the door, administered,
under the pretence of a pat on the
shoulder, a good-humoured shove to the
amazed and embarrassed Miss Mowlem,
closed the door again, and resumed her place
in a moment on her husband's knee.

"I've made it up with her, dear. I've sent
her away with my bright green ribbon, and
it makes her look as yellow as a guinea, and
as ugly as —" Rosamond stopped, and
looked anxiously into Mr. Frankland's face.

"Lenny!" she said, sadly, putting her cheek
against his, "are you angry with me still?"

"My love, I never was angry with you. I
never can be."

"I will always keep my temper down for
the future, Lenny!"

"I am sure you will, Rosamond. But never
mind that. I am not thinking of your temper
now."

"Of what, then?"

"Of the apology you made to Miss
Mowlem."

"Did I not say enough? I'll call her back
if you like — I'll make another penitent speech
— I'll do anything but kiss her. I really
can't do that — I can't kiss anybody now, but
you."

"My dear, dear love, how very much like
a child you are still, in some of your ways!
You said more than enough to Miss Mowlem
— far more. And if you will pardon me for
making the remark, I think in your generosity
and good-nature, you a little forgot yourself
with the young woman. I don't so much
allude to your giving her the ribbon— though,
perhaps, that might have been done a little
less familiarly— but, from what I heard you
say, I infer that you actually went the length
of shaking hands with her."

"Was that wrong? I thought it was the
kindest way of making it up."

"My dear, it is an excellent way of making
it up between equals. But consider the