Misunderstood

"Tell father! Mrs. Colville's sister? Why, he's just the very person who isn't to know."

"Mrs. Colville's sister" had been half afraid she was going to be made the confidante of some boyish escapade which the child had concealed from his father; but Humphrey's open face disarmed suspicion, and she listened attentively while he poured forth his tale.

It was necessary to listen attentively, for, in the first place, Humphrey was in such a hurry to get to his point, that he rather slurred over the necessary explanations; and, in the second place, he insisted on whispering it all in her ear, on account of the presence of the children.

He had just finished his story, and she was making solemn protestations of the strictest secrecy, when Mrs. Colville came back.

"You must not tell even her you know," concluded Humphrey; and, with a sigh of relief, he sat down again.

Mrs. Colville was one of those mothers who are always fancying other children are better dressed than their own. She was a great copyist, and an unscrupulous borrower of patterns.

Virginie held her in abhorrence. She had once asked for the pattern of Miles's blouse, and Virginie had never forgotten or forgiven Sir Everard's ready acquiescence.

Mrs. Colville and her family came to the same church as the Duncombes, and it was almost more than Virginie could stand to see other children dressed like her young gentlemen.

Mrs. Colville—blinded, a little, like most mothers—did not see that what suited Humphrey and Miles, both exceedingly pretty children, did not have quite the same effect on her nice, but decidedly plain, little boys, and went steadily on. Whatever appeared on Humphrey's graceful figure one Sunday, was sure to be reproduced on some fat little Colville the next.

Men do not notice these things. Sir Everard was quite unaware of what went on, but, to Virginie, it was a constant source of annoyance.

"That's a pretty suit," said Mrs. Colville examining Humphrey's clothes.

"Very," returned her sister; "they fit so well."

"Come here, Clement," said Mrs. Colville to a little boy in the distance; "there, don't you see, Mary, how differently his things set?"

Mary saw well enough, and saw too that it was figure and not clothes that made such a difference between the two boys, but she did not like to wound her sister's maternal vanity by saying so.

"Does your French bonne make your clothes, dear?" Mrs. Colville inquired of Humphrey.

"Not mine," he answered—"only Miles's. Mine," he added with great pride, "come from a London tailor's."

"Do you happen to remember his name?"

"Swears and Wells," answered Humphrey; "I went there once to see 'Gulliver.' I advise you to go and see him when you are in London. You can't think how jolly he is!"

"I suppose, of course, you don't remember the direction?" Of course Humphrey didn't.

"Stop a bit," he said, all of a sudden. "I've seen the direction written somewhere quite lately. Where could I have seen it? Why, since I've been in this room I've read it."

"Impossible, my dear child," said Mrs. Colville, laughing.

"But I have really," getting up from his chair in his excitement; "I've seen the number and the name of the street written somewhere in this drawing-room."

"You must be dreaming, dear."

"No, I'm quite sure I did. Now where could it have been? Did I go near the writing-table?" As he spoke, he advanced. "Or, stop, here are some cards. Did I see it written on a card?"

"No; I assure you Swears and Wells are not visitors of mine."

Humphrey was determined not to give it up, and in spite of the laughter of both ladies, he got up, went to the door, and made his entry all over again, that he might see what he could have passed on the way that might have had the direction on it.

He reflected out loud as he went along: "I came in here and passed the table (no, not on the books, or the work-basket, or the flower-stand). Then I stood by the piano a minute, while father was shaking hands with Mrs. Colville (no, not on the piano or the music). Then I shook hands with Mrs. Colville, then I sat down on the sofa by her sister, and put my hat by my side so—and–Oh!" he exclaimed, so suddenly that he startled both ladies, "here it is, written inside my hat! That's where I saw it—look! a little ticket: 'Swears and Wells, 192 Regent Street.' Ain't you glad, Mrs. Colville? Now you'll be able to find the shop. Hadn't you better write it down?"

He was heart and soul in the subject, and did not perceive the amusement he gave.

What would Virginie's feelings have been could she have seen the name, number and address, copied with great accuracy into Mrs. Colville's "Where is it?" and to make sure there should be no mistake, this memorandum added: "a suit such as was lately made for Sir E. Duncombe's little boy"?

This was just accomplished when Sir Everard came back.

"I'm afraid the General is in for a sharp attack, Mrs. Colville."

"I am afraid he is—he is so very imprudent. You know my sister, Sir Everard?"

Sir Everard advanced with a smile of recognition.

"Is it possible you are little Mary Wilberforce? I didn't recognize you just now, you are grown out of all recollection. To be sure, it is a long time since I saw you—three or four years, isn't it?"

Mary said something about it being a long time, but she did not like to particularize the date, though she remembered it perfectly: because Lady Duncombe had been with him at the time, and she was afraid of recalling painful associations.

"And when did you leave Banleigh?"

"About a week ago."

"How were my people?"

"I saw Lady Albinia and Miss Duncombe the day before I left. They were both very well."

A shy smile lighted up her face as she mentioned Miss Duncombe. There was evidently some joke about her, for it was reflected on Sir Everard's. "Poor old Cecilia," laughed he.

Miss Duncombe was a lady of limited intellect, and exceedingly young for her age; and everybody was at liberty to laugh at her. They talked on about her for some time, while Humphrey listened with all his might, and then Sir Everard took his leave.

"I'm better now," said Humphrey, as they rode along.

"What! were you not feeling well?" said Sir Everard, alarmed.

"Oh, yes; but I mean about my secret. What makes me feel better is, that I've told it to that lady—Mrs. Colville's sister."

"I don't believe you will ever keep that secret for ten days more. Do you know my birthday is not till Monday week?"

"Oh dear! oh dear! I thought it was much sooner than that. Let's be quick and talk of something else!"

"What shall we talk about? I am expecting two gentlemen down from London to-night, to spend Sunday; and I'm going to meet them at the station, as soon as I have taken you home to your tea. Will that do?"

"Yes, that will do. Are they nice gentlemen?"

"Yes, I think them so: but then tastes differ. Perhaps you won't."

"Old or young?"