there is precious little the matter. But that is not the

question. The point is: How do you come here? and are you

not ashamed to show yourself?'

'Flora,' said John, sepulchrally, 'I haven't eaten anything

for three days. Or, at least, I don't know what day it is;

but I guess I'm starving.'

You unhappy man!' she cried. 'Here, sit down and eat my

supper; and I'll just run upstairs and see my patient; not

but what I doubt she's fast asleep, for Maria is a MALADE

IMAGINAIRE.'

With this specimen of the French, not of Stratford-atte-Bowe,

but of a finishing establishment in Moray Place, she left

John alone in his father's sanctum. He fell at once upon the

food; and it is to be supposed that Flora had found her

patient wakeful, and been detained with some details of

nursing, for he had time to make a full end of all there was

to eat, and not only to empty the teapot, but to fill it

again from a kettle that was fitfully singing on his father's

fire. Then he sat torpid, and pleased, and bewildered; his

misfortunes were then half forgotten; his mind considering,

not without regret, this unsentimental return to his old

love.

Tales and Fantasies