heart--shopping. She was in Moubray, Rowan, and Hicks', turning over
ribbons and laces, while the faithful Brian waited for her outside, and
amused himself by looking at the human stream which flowed along the
pavement.

He disliked shopping quite as much as the majority of his sex, and
though as a lover he felt a certain amount of self-abnegation to be
becoming in him, it was difficult to drive away the thoughts of his
pleasant club, where he could be reading and smoking, with, perchance,
something cooling in a glass beside him.

However, after she had purchased a dozen or more articles she did not
want, Madge remembered that Brian was waiting for her, and hurried to
the door.

"I haven't been many minutes, have I, dear?" she said, touching him
lightly on the arm.

"Oh, dear no," answered Brian, looking at his watch, "only
thirty--a mere nothing, considering a new dress was being discussed."

"I thought I had been longer," said Madge, her brow clearing; "but
still I am sure you feel a martyr."

"Not at all," replied Fitzgerald, handing her into the carriage; "I
enjoyed myself very much."

"Nonsense," she laughed, opening her sunshade, while Brian took his
seat beside her; "that's one of those social stories--which every one
considers themselves bound to tell from a sense of duty. I'm afraid I