"I dare say I haven't been careful," Mrs. Hastings kept anxiously
observing, "I have been heedless, I dare say. And I always think
that what one must avoid is heedlessness, don't you think? Didn't
Napoleon say that if only Cæsar had been first in killing the men
who wanted to kill him--something about Pompey's statue being kept
clean. What was it--why should they blame Cæsar for the condition of
the public statues?"

"My dear Mrs. Hastings," Mr. Frothingham reminded her, his long
gloved hands laid trimly along his knees as before, "you are in my
care."

The statue problem faded from the lady's eyes.

"Poor, dear Mr. Hastings always said you were so admirable at
cross-questioning," she recalled, partly reassured.

"Ah," cried Miss Holland protestingly, "Aunt Dora, this is an
adventure. We are going to see 'Tabnit.'"

St. George was silent, ecstatically reviewing the events of the last
six hours and thinking unenviously of Amory, rocking somewhere with
_The Aloha_ on a mere stretch of green water:

"If Chillingworth could see me now," he thought victoriously, as the
carriage turned smartly into McDougle Street.