severity. "What a very naughty little boy he is! Isn't he?" (with an appealing glance at me).
"He's a little fractious," I said. "Perhaps he's cutting a tooth." While to myself I said "How exactly like Sylvie talking to Bruno!"
"He wants his tea." (The naughty little boy volunteered the information.) "He's getting very tired, at the mere prospect of the great party to-morrow!"
"Then he shall have a good rest before-hand!" she soothingly replied. "The tea isn't made yet. Come, little boy, lean well back in your chair, and think about nothingor about me, whichever you prefer!"
"All the same, all the same!" Arthur sleepily murmured, watching her with loving eyes, as she moved her chair away to the tea-table, and began to make the tea. "Then he'll wait for his tea, like a good, patient little boy!"
"Shall I bring you the London Papers?" said Lady Muriel. "I saw them lying on the table as I came out, but my father said there was nothing in them, except that horrid murder-trial." (Society was just then enjoying its daily
