"I commend your modesty," said M. Mirabeau. "It prevents your saying what every one knows,—that I am your adorer!"
Tom Trotter was pacing the floor. He stopped in front of her, a scowl on his handsome face.
"Now, tell us just what the infernal dog said to you," he said.
She started. "You—you have already heard something?" she cried, wonderingly.
"Ah, what did I tell you?" cried M. Mirabeau triumphantly, glancing first at Trotter and then at Bramble. "He is in love with her, and this is what comes of it. He resorts to—"
"Is this magic?" she exclaimed.
"Not a bit of it," said Trotter. "We've been putting two and two together, the three of us. Begin at the beginning," he went on, encouragingly. "Don't hold back a syllable of it."
"You must promise to be governed by my advice," she warned him. "You must be careful,—oh, so very careful."
"He will be good at any rate," said Mr. Bramble, fixing the young man with a look. Trotter's face went crimson.
"Ahem!" came guardedly from M. Mirabeau. "Proceed, my dear. We are most impatient."
The old Frenchman's deductions were not far from right. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis, unaccustomed to opposition and believing himself to be entitled to everything he set his heart on having, being by nature predatory, sustained an incredible shock when the pretty and desirable governess failed utterly to come up to ex-
