it is but right you should hear about--"

"I want to hear nothing. I thought you liked Cuthbert."

"I do, and he is a good match. But I should like to see you
accept the Poet Arkwright, who will yet be the Shakespeare of
England."

"England has quite enough glory with the Shakespeare she has,"
rejoined Juliet tartly, "and as to Mr. Arkwright, I wouldn't
marry him if he had a million. A silly, ugly, weak--"

"Stop!" cried Mrs. Octagon, rising majestically from her
throne. "Do not malign genius, lest the gods strike you dumb.
Child--"

What Mrs. Octagon was about to say further must remain ever a
mystery, for it was at this moment that her husband hurried
into the room with an evening paper in his hand. "My dear,"
he said, his scanty hair almost standing on end with horror,
"such dreadful news. Your aunt, Juliet, my dear--"

"Selina," said Mrs. Octagon quietly, "go on. There is nothing
bad I don't expect to hear about Selina. What is it?"

"She is dead!"

"Dead!" cried Juliet, clasping her hands nervously. "No!"

"Not only dead, but murdered!" cried Mr. Octagon. His wife