extraordinary shapes — and whether our butcher contracted for all the deformed sheep that came into the world; but I kept my reflections to myself.

‘My love,’ said I to Dora, ‘what have you got in that dish?’

I could not imagine why Dora had been making tempting little faces at me, as if she wanted to kiss me.

‘Oysters, dear,’ said Dora, timidly.

‘Was that YOUR thought?’ said I, delighted.

‘Ye-yes, Doady,’ said Dora.

‘There never was a happier one!’ I exclaimed, laying down the carving-knife and fork.

‘There is nothing Traddles likes so much!’