recognisable as Jerry and Rosa. Jerry hailed from far Japan: his
hair was straight and black; his one garment cotton, of a simple
blue; and his reputation was distinctly bad. Jerome was his
proper name, from his supposed likeness to the holy man who hung
in a print on the staircase; though a shaven crown was the
only thing in common 'twixt Western saint and Eastern sinner.
Rosa was typical British, from her flaxen poll to the stout
calves she displayed so liberally, and in character she was of
the blameless order of those who have not yet been found out.

I suspected Jerry from the first; there was a latent devilry in
his slant eyes as he sat there moodily, and knowing what he was
capable of I scented trouble in store for Charlotte. Rosa I was
not so sure about; she sat demurely and upright, and looked far
away into the tree-tops in a visionary, world-forgetting sort of
way; yet the prim purse of her mouth was somewhat overdone, and
her eyes glittered unnaturally.

"Now, I'm going to begin where I left off," said Charlotte,
regardless of stops, and thumping the turf with her fist
excitedly: "and you must pay attention, 'cos this is a treat, to
have a story told you before you're put to bed. Well, so the
White Rabbit scuttled off down the passage and Alice hoped he'd
come back 'cos he had a waistcoat on and her flamingo flew up a
tree--but we haven't got to that part yet--you must wait a
minute, and--where had I got to?"

Jerry only remained passive until Charlotte had got well under
way, and then began to heel over quietly in Rosa's direction.
His head fell on her plump shoulder, causing her to start