the only girl he would ever want to marry. His ministerial self put in
a faint proviso, 'If she is a good girl'; but it was instantly shouted
down by his other self, who asserted that as she was so beautiful she
must be good.

During the last items on the programme--two vociferous glees rendered
by a stage-full of people packed so tightly that it was marvellous how
they expanded their diaphragms--Edward was in anguish of mind lest the
cornet should monopolize Hazel at supper. The said cornet had become
several shades more purple each time Hazel sang, so Edward was prepared
for the worst. He was determined to make a struggle for it, and felt
that though his position denied him the privilege of scuffling, he
might at least use finesse--that has never been denied to any Church.

'My dear,' whispered Mrs. Marston, 'have you an unwelcome guest?'

This was her polite way of indicating a flea.

'No, mother.'

'Well, dear, there must be something preying on your mind; you have
kept up such a feeling of uneasiness that I have hardly had any nap at
all.'

'What do you think of her, mother?'

'Who, dear?'

'The beautiful girl.'