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'"
Dora is a minx.
"I fear," said I, "that my pedantic historical sense must venture
to correct you. It was Lord Beaconsfield."
"Well, he got it from Palmerston," insisted Dora.
"You children must not quarrel," interposed my aunt, in the fond,
maternal tone which I find peculiarly unpleasant. "Marcus will
see how his engagements stand, and let us know in a day or two."
"When do you propose to start?" I asked.
"Quite soon. On the 20th.
"I will let you know finally in good time," said I.
As I accompanied them downstairs, I heard a door at the end of
the passage open, and turning I saw Carlotta's pretty head thrust
past the jamb, and her eyes fixed on the visitors. I motioned
her back, sharply, and my aunt and Dora made an unsuspecting
exit. The noise of their departing chariot wheels was music to
my ears.
Carlotta came rushing out of her sitting-room followed by Miss
Griggs, protesting.
"Who those fine ladies?" she cried, with her hands on my sleeve.
"Who _are_ those ladies?" I corrected.


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