HE directed his face to the house, however, only to find himself in the presence of his mother, who had come back to her tea-table and whom he saw veri tably glare at the small object in his hands. From this object her scrutiny¹ jumped to his own countenance², which, to his great discomfort³, was not conscious of very successfully baffling it. He knew therefore a momentary⁴ relief when her observation attached itself to Jean Martle, whom Tony, planted on the lawn, was also undisguisedly watching and who was already introducing Effie to the treasure laid up in the shade of the tea-table. The girl had caught up the child on her strong young arm, where she sat robust⁵ and radiant, befrilled and besashed, hugging the biggest of the dolls; and in this position erect⁶, active, laughing, her rosy⁷ burden, almost on her shoulder, mingling⁸ its brightness with that of her crown of hair, and her other hand grasping, for Effie’s further delight, in the form of another puppet from the pile, a still rosier⁹ imitation of it antici pated quickly the challenge, which, as Paul saw, Mrs. Beever was on the point of addressing her.

“Our wonderful cake’s not coming out?”

“It’s too big to transport,” said Mrs. Beever: “ it’s blazing away in the dining-room.”

Jean Martle turned to Tony. “ I may carry her in to see it? ”

Tony assented¹⁰. “ Only please remember she’s not to partake.”

Jean smiled — at him. “ I’ll eat her share!” And she passed swiftly over the lawn while the three pair of eyes followed her.

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