I hear the boys tittering at the table behind me--a sound which, telling me how ill I am speeding, makes my confusion tenfold worse.

I murmur, helplessly and indistinctly, something about his never traveling, and my knowing that fact--and having been always sure that he would hate it--and then I glance helplessly round with a wild idea of flight.

But at the same moment an arm of friendly strength comes round my shoulders--a friendly voice sounds in my buzzing ears.
"James," it says, simply and directly, "she has brought you a present, and she is afraid that you will not care about it." "A _present_!" echoes my father, the meaning of the inexplicable object which has suddenly been thrust into his grasp beginning to dawn upon him.

"Oh, I see! I am sure, my dear Nancy"-- with a sort of embarrassed stiffness that yet means to be gracious--"that I am extremely obliged to you, extremely; and though I regret that you should have wasted your money on me--yet--yet--I assure you, I shall always prize it very highly." Then he goes out rather hastily.

I return to the supper-table.
"Shake hands!" cries Algy, pouring me out a glass of claret.