Master and Maid

orld called "Bruiser Bevan," Housemaster of "B. House" in Ha

ll will excuse you; it's more than time you were doing your prep.""Ah, well, we'll meet again to-morrow," Miss Clonmell announced cheerfully. "There's ever so many of you I want to see. I know lots of you by name as well as can be."As the door was shut behind the last of the prefects the girl drew her chair nearer to Tony's and laid a small deprecating hand upon his arm."I'm afraid I'm fearfully in the way, Tony," she said, in a voice that subtly combined excuse, apology, and reproach. "You don't seem a bit glad to see me; and if you won't let me stay here, Dad says I'd better go to the big girls' school in this town as a by-something or other, and I'll hate it!""My dear," and as he spoke Tony patted the pleading little hand that lay so lightly on his arm, "I am entirely delighted to see you, but as I said before, it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away.""Bother Miss Foster! I'm certain from all I've heard that she's the very worst sort of Aunt Emileen. I'm glad she's away; I'd far rather be here with you. Paddy says she's a regular catamaran. Honestly, Tony, now, isn't she?"Tony pursed up his lips, and tried hard to look severe as he shook his head."I wish she were here just at present, anyhow. When irresponsible children turn up unexpectedly, it needs some one strict to look after them.""Please, Tony, do you mind if I take off my hat? I didn't like to do it before those boys, for I haven't a notion what state my hair is in, but you've seen me at all times ever since I was a baby, haven't you? And you'll excuse it."She drew the big jade pins out of her hat and laid it on the senior prefect's chair. Without it, she looked absurdly young: her face was the face of a child, full of soft curves and sweet, blurred outlines. There was something timid and beseeching in the dark eyes she raised to Tony Bevan so confidingly: eyes black-lashed, with faint blue shadows underneath--the "mark of the dirty finger" that every pretty Irishwoman is proud to possess."You can look after me beautifully yourself, Tony, dear; that's why I've come. Dad said I'd be safer with you than any one.""But, my child, I am in College the greater part of the day. Every minute of my time is filled up in school and out. As it is, I have an appointment with the Chairman of the Playground Committee in five minutes. What will you do with yourself?""Can't I see the chairman too? Well then, where's Paunch? Couldn't he come and talk to me for a little bit--just while you settle with this other man?""Hush! You must not call Mr. Johns by that nickname here. Besides, he's taking prep., and would be impossible in any case.""Now, Tony, don't you be hushing me for saying 'Paunch.' Everybody calls him Paunch. I've heard you do it yourself.""Yes, Lallie, I dare say you have, but not here. It would be most disrespectful and rude----""Good gracious, Tony! You don't imagine I'm going to call the man Paunch to his face, do you? Did you think that when he was introduced to me I'd make him a curtsey like this"--here she arose and swept a magnificent curtsey--"and say, 'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance Mr. Paunch; I've heard a vast deal about you one way and another'? Don't be a goose, Tony! What about Matron? She hasn't left, has she? Paddy says she's a regular brick, and anyway it won't be a bit duller for me here than it was with Aunt Emileen whenever Dad was away.""Child, who is Aunt Emileen? I don't seem to have heard of her before. Couldn't she come and be with you for the next few days?"The girl burst into sudden laughter--infectious, musical, Irish laughter. She rocked to and fro in her mirth, and suddenly snuggling up to Tony Bevan, rubbed her head against his shoulder."Oh, Tony, you are too delicious! She can certainly come if you want her, but I'm not sure that you'd think her much good.""Sit up, Lallie, there's some one coming down the drive. You haven't answered my question. Who and where is Aunt Emileen?""Aunt Emileen is my chaperon, but she suffers from delicate health. When Dad took a little house at Fairham last November--and a nice soft winter it was--he told everybody about Aunt Emileen, so that no one should come pestering him and suggesting some nice widow lady to keep house and take care of me. And she answered very well indeed, though it was a little difficult when the clergyman wanted to call and see her." Again she lapsed into that absurd infectious laughter."But whose aunt is she?" persisted the bewildered Tony. "I know your father hasn't any sisters, and your dear mother was an only girl. Is she the wife of one of your uncles? Or is she your father's aunt?""Honestly, Tony, I can't tell you any more about the lady except that she's Aunt Emileen.""But what's her surname?""I can't tell you, Tony, for I don't know; we never bothered about a surname.""Now, that's ridiculous, Lallie; the servants couldn't call her Aunt Emileen.""Oh, Tony, you'll kill me, you're so funny. Listen, and I'll tell you all about it. Aunt Emileen is--a creation, a figment of Dad's brain, a sop thrown to conventionality by the most unconventional man in creation: a Mrs. Harris. She could be as strict and stiff and pernicketty as ever she liked, for she couldn't interfere with us really; and sh