Mrs. Howland did not like to have her years mentioned.  Mr. Martin had been careful never to do so until Maggie appeared on the scene.  On the contrary, he had dropped hints that his birdling, his Little-sing, his Victoria, was in the early bloom of youth.  But now he said that she was a wonderful woman for her years.

Mrs. Howland bridled slightly.  “I am not old, James,” she said.

“Come, come,” said the good-natured grocer; “no ‘Jamesing’ of me.  I’m your Bo-peep.  What does it matter whether you are old or young, Victoria, if you suit me and I suit you?  This is a first-rate tea, and that girl’s clever ­uncommon clever.  By the way, how old may she happen to be?”

“Sixteen her last birthday,” said Mrs. Howland.  “I was very, very young, a mere child, when I married, James.”

“There you are with your ‘James’ again!  Strikes me, you’re a bit huffy to-day, Little-sing.”

“No, I am not; only I’ve been worried since Maggie came back.  She was so rude to you yesterday.  I felt it terribly.”

“Did you now?  Well, that was very sensible of you.  We’ll finish our tea before we begin our talk.  Come, Little-sing, eat your cake and drink your tea, and make yourself agreeable to your Bo-peep.”

Mrs. Howland felt cheered.  She did enjoy her meal; and, if she liked it, Mr. Martin liked it immensely also.

“What a useful girl that would be!” he said.  “We could make her housekeeper at Laburnum Villa in no time.  She has a head on her shoulders.”

Mrs. Howland was silent.  She was dreading inexpressibly the little scene which she felt must be endured between her and her intended.

“We’ll ring the bell now,” said Martin, wiping a few crumbs from his mouth and dusting his trousers with his pocket-handkerchief.  “We’ll get Tildy to remove all these things, and then what do you say to my taking you for a drive to the Park?”

“Oh, I should like that!” said Mrs. Howland in surprise,

“Thought so.  Never say that Bo-peep isn’t thoughtful. ­Ah, here you be, Tildy.  You clear away ­smart, my girl, and then whistle for a ’ansom.  Do you hear me?  A ’ansom, not a four-wheeler.  Look as sharp as you can, my girl, and I’ll give you sixpence.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tildy.  She looked with admiring eyes at the pair who were so close to the matrimonial venture, and quickly removed all traces of the meal.

“Now then, Little-sing, go into your room and get dressed for your drive.”

Mrs. Howland did so.  She put on an elegant sort of bonnet-hat which had been presented to her by Martin, a lace fichu over her shoulders, and a pair of long white gloves.  She had also been presented with a white parasol by Martin.  He thought that no one could look more beautiful than his ladylove when she reappeared in the drawing-room.

“The ’ansom’s at the door,” he said.  “We’ll go now and start on our drive.”

Mrs. Howland rose, and Tildy agreed with Martin as to Mrs. Howland’s appearance when she stepped into that hansom.  Tildy said she looked bride-like.  Mrs. Ross remarked that as elegant women before now had become widows in no time.  Tildy shuddered, and said that Mrs. Ross should not say things of that sort.  Mrs. Ross replied that she invariably spoke the truth, and then returned to her dismal kitchen.

Meanwhile Martin and Mrs. Howland were driven swiftly in the direction of Hyde Park.  London society people were fast going out of town, for it was very nearly the end of July; but still there were a few carriages about, and some fine horses, and some gaily dressed ladies and several smart-looking men.  Martin provided a couple of chairs for himself and his future wife, and they sat for some little time enjoying the fresh air and looking on at the gay scene.

“It is wonderful,” said Martin, “what a sight of money is wasted in this sort of thing.”

“But they enjoy it, don’t they?” said Mrs. Howland.

“Yes, my pet,” he replied, “but not as you and me will enjoy Laburnum Villa.  And now, Little-sing, can you attend to business?”

“I have a very weak head for business, Bo-peep,” was the reply.

“Don’t I know it, my pet; and I am the last person on earth to allow you to be worried; but I tell you what it is, Victory, if your head is weak as regards money matters, your girl has a topping good brain in that direction.  Now, I have a notion in my head about her.”

“You can’t do anything with her,” said Mrs. Howland; “she is quite impossible.  I never thought she would treat you as she did.  I could weep when I think of it.  I shouldn’t be surprised if, on account of her rudeness and ingratitude, we broke off the engagement.  I shouldn’t really, James.”

“What do you take me for?” said James.  “It isn’t the girl I want to marry! it’s you.”

“Oh dear!” said Mrs. Howland; “of course, I know.”

“She ain’t a patch on you, Little-sing ­that is, I mean as regards looks.  But now, don’t you fret.  If you have been turning things over in your mind, so have I been turning things over in my mind, and the sum and substance of it all is that I believe that girl’s right after all.”

“Right after all!  But dear, dear James, the child can’t live on nothing!”

“Who said she was to live on nothing?” said Martin.  “Don’t tremble, Little-sing; it’s more than I can stand.  I have been thinking that a sharp young miss like that wants a bit more training.  She wants breaking in.  Now, I’ve no mind to the job.  I can manage my shop-people ­not one of them can come round me, I can tell you ­but a miss like your daughter, brought up altogether, I will say, above her station, is beyond me.  What I have been turning over in my mind is this, that a year or two’s training longer will do her no sort of harm.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Howland.  She was trembling exceedingly.

“I think, too,” continued Martin, “that Laburnum Villa might not be agreeable to her at present; and if it ain’t agreeable to her she’ll put on the sulks, and that’s more than I can abide.  Cheerfulness I must have.  My joke I must be allowed to make.  My fun in my own way I must enjoy.  You and me ­we’ll hit it off splendid, and let the girl go for the present.”

“But she must go somewhere,” said Mrs. Howland.

“Good gracious, my lady! do you suppose I’d allow the girl to be destitute?  No; I’m ready to do the generous; and now, I’ll tell you something.  You mustn’t blame her too much.  She repented of her ill-natured manner last night, and came to me as pretty as you please this morning, and asked me to breakfast with her.  I was taken aback, but she came round me, and we went to Harrison’s and had a topping meal.  Then she spoke to me very sensible, and explained that she wanted more ‘parlez-vooing’ and more ‘pi-annofortying,’ and all the rest of the so-called ladies’ accomplishments.  She consulted me very pretty and very proper indeed; and the long and the short of it is that I am willing to allow her forty pounds a year for her education at that blessed Aylmer House where all the swells go, and to keep her there for two years certain; and I am willing, further, to give her twenty pounds a year to spend on dress.  Of course she takes her holidays with us.  Then, if at the end of that time she turns out what I hope she will, I will make her an accountant in the shop; it will be a first-rate post for her, and I am sure, from the way she talks, she has a splendid head for business.  Now, what do you say to that, Little-sing?”

“I say there never was your like, Bo-peep.”

Mr. Martin rubbed his hands.  “Thought you’d be pleased,” he said.  “The girl spoke very proper indeed this morning, and she is a good girl ­plain and sensible, and I couldn’t but take notice of her words.  Now then, s’pose we take a fresh ’ansom, and hurry home; and I’ll take you out and give you a right good bit of dinner, and afterwards we’ll go to the play.”

“Oh dear!” said Mrs. Howland, “you are good to me, Bo-peep.”