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"I fancy that appplies to things, not people," I say doubtfully "and I am nearly sure it is a hymn."

"St. John has lost himself among the Psalms," says Charles.

"The safest place he ever got into," says Mr. Silvestre.

"That comes of going to church," says Captain Brabazon.

Lord St. John smiles blandly at his friends and continues: "It may be that I am prejudiced, Miss Adair, for a man naturally likes to think that he ought to be exactly like what he is, but I like being little. There is a peculiar charm in the upsidedownness of being a lord of creation and yet so much shorter than most ladies—to feel that they could take me up and horsewhip me without an effort, and yet that they do not! Delicious creatures! And it is a fact, Miss Adair, that if ladies cannot have a gigantic slashing fellow for a lover, who could crush them between his finger and thumb, they like to have something that they can protect, and pet, and spoil. Women's love is divided into two classes, the adoring and the protective, and upon my word, I think the dear souls enjoy the one as well as the other."

There is a chorus of laughter all round the table, in which Alice joins. I wonder if she pets the little man?

He betakes himself to claret cup, so do I, and sit listening to the nonsense that is flying about. How very seldom Silvia's voice is heard. It is the rarest thing to hear her speak, and then it is only to Milly or Fane, or Sir George Vestris. Although she lives among us, she somehow seems to be set apart; if it were not for her perfect loveliness, one would not remember she was present. I have seen neither look nor word exchanged between her and Paul Vasher to-day. If he loves her still, how can he bear to see her appropriated by another man as he does? Lovers are kittle cattle! The butler is opening a bottle of Bass leisurely; but