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 histories did not coincide. To him the history of the Marshmoreton family was the occupation of the idle hour; she seemed to think that he ought to regard it as a life work. She was always coming and digging him out of the garden and dragging him back to what should have been a purely after-dinner task. It was Lord Marshmoreton’s habit when he awoke after one of his naps too late to resume work to throw out some vague promise of “attending to it to-morrow”; but, he reflected bitterly, the girl ought to have the tact and sense to understand that this was only polite persiflage and not to be taken literally.

“They are very rough,” continued Alice, addressing her conversation to the seat of his lordship’s corduroy trousers. Lord Marshmoreton always assumed a stooping attitude when he saw Miss Faraday approaching with papers in her hand; for he labored under a pathetic delusion, of which no amount of failures could rid him, that if she did not see his face she would withdraw. “You remember last night you promised you would attend to them this morning.” She paused long enough to receive a noncommittal grunt by way of answer. “Of course if you’re busy,” … she said placidly, with a half glance at Lady Caroline. That masterful woman could always be counted on as an ally in these little encounters.

“Nothing of the kind!” said Lady Caroline crisply. She was still ruffled by the lack of attention which her recent utterances had received, and welcomed the chance of administering discipline. “Get up at once, John, and go in and work.”

“I am working!” pleaded Lord Marshmoreton. Despite his forty-eight years his sister Caroline still had the power at times to make him feel like a small