sympathies should adopt it. Besides, Mrs. Hilary is quite
good-looking herself.

The history of the affair is much as follows: I called on Mrs.
Hilary to see whether I could do anything, and she told me all
about it. It appears that Mrs. Hilary had a bad cold and a
cousin up from the country about the same time (she was justly
aggrieved at the double event), and being unable to go to the
Duchess of Dexminster's "squash," she asked Dolly Mickleham to
chaperon little Miss Phyllis. Little Miss Phyllis, of course,
knew no one there--the Duchess least of all--(but then very few
of us--yes, I was there--knew the Duchess, and the Duchess didn't
know any of us; I saw her shake hands with a waiter myself, just
to be on the safe side), and an hour after the party began she
was discovered wandering about in a most desolate condition.
Dolly had told her that she would be in a certain place; and when
Miss Phyllis came, Dolly was not there. The poor little lady
wandered about for another hour, looking so lost that one was
inclined to send for a policeman; and then she sat down on a seat
by the wall, and, in desperation, asked her next-door neighbor if
he knew Lady Mickleham by sight, and had he seen her lately? The
next-door neighbor, by way of reply, called out to a quiet
elderly gentleman who was sidling unobtrusively about, "Duke, are
there any particularly snug corners in your house?" The Duke
stopped, searched his memory, and said that at the end of the Red
Corridor there was a passage, and that a few yards down the
passage, if you turned very suddenly to the right, you would come
on a little nook under the stairs. The little nook just held a
settee, and the settee (the Duke thought) might just hold two
people. The next-door neighbor thanked the Duke, and observed to