She is now in the letter M." A peal of merriment interrupted her.

"That explains it!" exclaimed Stephen with unaffected delight, "maneuver--misinformation--multitude--" "So she has practised on you too ?" "Oh, they all practise on me," he retorted.

"It is what I was made for." "Well, as long as it is only words, you are safe, I suppose." He denied this with a gesture.

"It is everything you can possibly practise with--from puddings to pigeons." "My poor dear, so you have been eating Margaret's puddings.

Weren't they good ones ?" "Oh, perfection! But I wasn't thinking of Margaret." "I know you weren't.