called, and my reply of once a month must have impressed her favourably. They are coming. I heard from them this morning.

“I shall hate those Miss Alans!” Mrs. Honeychurch cried. “Just because they're old and silly one's expected to say 'How sweet!' I hate their 'if'-ing and 'but'-ing and 'and'-ing. And poor Lucy — serve her right — worn to a shadow.”

Mr. Beebe watched the shadow springing and shouting over the tennis-court. Cecil was absent — one did not play bumble-puppy when he was there.

“Well, if they are coming — No, Minnie, not Saturn.” Saturn was a tennis-ball whose skin was partially unsewn. When in motion his orb was encircled by a ring. “If they are coming, Sir Harry will let