teeth, completed his dressing in sullen introspection.

When he had tied his scarf and bitten his cigarette to pieces, he paced
the room once or twice, squared his shoulders, breathed deeply, and,
unbending his eyebrows, walked off to the nursery.

"Hello, you kids!" he said, with an effort. "I've come to luncheon. Very
nice of you to want me, Drina."

"I wanted you, too!" said Billy; "I'm to sit beside you--"

"So am I," observed Drina, pushing Winthrop out of the chair and sliding
in close to Selwyn. She had the cat, Kit-Ki, in her arms. Kit-Ki,
divining nourishment, was purring loudly.

Josephine and Clemence, in pinafores and stickout skirts, sat wriggling,
with Winthrop between them; the five dogs sat in a row behind; Katie and
Bridget assumed the functions of Hibernian Hebes; and luncheon began
with a clatter of spoons.

It being also the children's dinner--supper and bed occurring from five
to six--meat figured on the card, and Kit-Ki's purring increased to an
ecstatic and wheezy squeal, and her rigid tail, as she stood up on
Drina's lap, was constantly brushing Selwyn's features.

"The cat is shedding, too," he remarked, as he dodged her caudal
appendage for the twentieth time; "it will go in with the next
spoonful, Drina, if you're not careful about opening your mouth."

"I love Kit-Ki," said Drina placidly. "I have written a poem to