"My dear," said I, "model yourself on Little Bo-Peep. I don't know who
gave her the famous bit of advice, but I think it was I myself in a
pastoral incarnation. I had a woolly cloak and a crook, and she was like
a Dresden china figure--the image of you."

Her eyes swam, but she laughed and said I was good to her. I said:

"The man who wouldn't be good to you is an unhung villain."

Then her mother joined us, and our little confidential talk came to an
end. It was enough, however, to convince me that my poor little Ariadne
was shedding many desperate tears in secret over her desertion.

On my way home I looked in on my doctor. His name is Hunnington. He
grasped me by the hand and eagerly inquired whether my pain was worse. I
said it was not. He professed delight, but looked disappointed. I ought
to have replied in the affirmative. It is so easy to make others happy.

I dined, read a novel, and went to sleep in the cheerful frame of mind
induced by the consciousness of having made some little progress on the
path of eumoiriety.

The next morning Dale made his customary appearance. He wore a morning
coat, a dark tie, and patent-leather boots.

"Well," said I, "have you dressed more carefully today?"

He looked himself anxiously over and inquired whether there was anything
wrong. I assured him of the impeccability of his attire, and commented