Bernard Maddison kept his engagement that evening, and dined alone with Lady Thurwell and Helen. There had been some talk of going to the opera afterwards, but no one seemed to care about it, and so it dropped through. "For my part," Lady Thurwell said, as they sat lingering over their dessert, "I shall quite enjoy an evening's rest. You literary men, Mr. Maddison, talk a good deal about being overworked, but you know nothing of the life of a chaperon in the season. I tell Helen that she is sadly wanting in gratitude. We do everything worth doing-picture galleries, matin es, shopping, afternoon calls, dinners, dances, receptions-why, there's no slavery like it." Helen laughed softly. "We do a great deal too much, aunt," she said. "I am almost coming round to my father's opinion. You kno

