carelessness.

"I was on the pier," pursued Mrs. Hilary. "I had a red frock on,
I remember, and one of those big hats they wore that year.
Hilary wore--"

"Blue serge," I interpolated, encouragingly.

"Yes, blue serge," said she fondly. "He had been yachting, and
he was beautifully burnt. I was horribly burnt--wasn't I,
Hilary?"

Hilary began to pat the dog.

"Then we got to know one another."

"Stop a minute," said I. "How did that happen?" Mrs. Hilary
blushed.

"Well, we were both always on the pier," she explained.
"And--and somehow Hilary got to know father, and--and father
introduced him to me."

"I'm glad it was no worse," said I. I was considering Miss
Phyllis, who sat listening, open-eyed.

"And then you know, father wasn't always there; and once or twice
we met on the cliff. Do you remember that morning, Hilary?"

"What morning?" asked Hilary, patting the dog with immense