Monday supplement of the _Novoe Vremya_.  As for Loona Bimberton,
she refused to look at an illustrated paper for weeks, and her
letter of thanks for the gift of a tiger-claw brooch was a model of
repressed emotions.  The luncheon-party she declined; there
are limits beyond which repressed emotions become dangerous.

  From Curzon Street the tiger-skin rug travelled down to the
Manor House, and was duly inspected and admired by the
county, and it seemed a fitting and appropriate thing when
Mrs. Packletide went to the County Costume Ball in the
character of Diana.  She refused to fall in, however, with
Clovis's tempting suggestion of a primeval dance party, at
which every one should wear the skins of beasts they had
recently slain.  ``I should be in rather a Baby Bunting
condition,'' confessed Clovis, ``with a miserable
rabbit-skin or two to wrap up in, but then,'' he added, with
a rather malicious glance at Diana's proportions, ``my
figure is quite as good as that Russian dancing boy's.''

  ``How amused every one would be if they knew what really
happened,'' said Louisa Mebbin a few days after the ball.

  ``What do you mean?'' asked Mrs. Packletide quickly.

  ``How you shot the goat and frightened the tiger to
death,'' said Miss Mebbin, with her disagreeably pleasant
laugh.

  ``No one would believe it,'' said Mrs. Packletide, her
face changing colour as rapidly as though it were going
through a book of patterns before post-time.

  ``Loona Bimberton would,'' said Miss Mebbin.  Mrs.
Packletide's face settled on an unbecoming shade of greenish
white.

  ``You surely wouldn't give me away?'' she asked.

  ``I've seen a week-end cottage near Darking that I should
rather like to buy,'' said Miss Mebbin with seeming
irrelevance.  ``Six hundred and eighty, freehold.  Quite a
bargain, only I don't happen to have the money.''

			     *

  Louisa Mebbin's pretty week-end cottage, christened by her
``Les Fauves,'' and gay in summer-time with its garden
borders of tiger-lilies, is the wonder and admiration of her
friends.

  ``It is a marvel how Louisa manages to do it,'' is the
general verdict.

  Mrs. Packletide indulges in no more big-game shooting.

  ``The incidental expenses are so heavy,'' she confides to
inquiring friends.

	      THE STAMPEDING OF LADY BASTABLE

  ``It would be rather nice if you would put Clovis up for
another six days while I go up north to the MacGregors',''
said Mrs. Sangrail sleepily across the breakfast-table.  It
was her invariable plan to speak in a sleepy, comfortable
voice whenever she was unusually keen about anything; it put
people off their guard, and they frequently fell in with her
wishes before they had realized that she was really asking
for anything.  Lady Bastable, however, was not so easily
taken unawares; possibly she knew that voice and what it
betokened--- at any rate, she knew Clovis.

  She frowned at a piece of toast and ate it very slowly, as
though she wished to convey the impression that the process
hurt her more than it hurt the toast; but no extension of
hospitality on Clovis's behalf rose to her lips.

  ``It would be a great convenience to me,'' pursued Mrs.
Sangrail, abandoning the careless tone. ``I particularly
don't want to take him to the MacGregors', and it will only
be for six days.''

  ``It will seem longer,'' said Lady Bastable dismally.
``The last time he stayed here for a week---''

  ``I know,'' interrupted the other hastily, ``but that was
nearly two years ago.  He was younger then.''

  ``But he hasn't improved,'' said her hostess; ``it's no
use growing older if you only learn new ways of misbehaving
yourself.''

  Mrs. Sangrail was unable to argue the point; since Clovis
had reached the age of seventeen she had never ceased to
bewail his irrepressible waywardness to all her circle of
acquaintances, and a polite scepticism would have greeted
the slightest hint at a prospective reformation.  She
discarded the fruitless effort at cajolery and resorted to
undisguised bribery.

  ``If you'll have him here for these six days I'll cancel