'As if you remember anything about it.'

'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it. I remember what was the matter with her
quite well.'

'I bet you don't. What was it?' she asked, with childish eagerness.

'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes. She told me
about it. Nothing seems to shift it, either.'

Mavis laughed--hoarse, childlike laughter that brought tears to her
eyes.

'It's a shame to make fun of Aunt Jessie; she's a very, very good
sort.'

'Oh, good gracious, Mavis, if it comes to sorts, I'm sure she's quite
at the top of the tree. But don't let's bother about her now.'

'What _do_ you want to bother about?'

'Couldn't you come out and dine with me, Mavis? It would be a
change'--he was going to say 'for you', but altered it--'for me.'

'Oh no, Vincy; you can't take me out to dinner. I don't look up to the
mark.' She looked in a glass. 'My hat--it's a very good hat--it cost
more than you'd think--but it shows signs of wear.'

'Oh, that reminds me,' began Vincy. 'What _do_ you think happened the
other day? A cousin of mine who was up in London a little while bought