impression made, in a wide circle, by Ida's sacrifices; and he came into the schoolroom repeatedly to let them know how beautifully he felt everything had gone off and everything would go on.
He disappeared at times for days, when his patient friends understood that her ladyship would naturally absorb him; but he always came back with the drollest stories of where he had been—a wonderful picture of society, and even with pretty presents that showed how, in absence, he thought of his home. Besides giving Mrs. Wix, by his conversation, a sense that they almost themselves "went out," he gave her a five-pound note, and the history of France, and an umbrella with a malachite knob; and to Maisie both chocolate-creams and storybooks and a lovely great-coat (which he took her out all alone to buy), besides ever so many games, in boxes, with printed directions, and a bright red frame for the protection of his famous photograph. The games were, as he said, to while away the evening hour, and the evening hour indeed often passed in futile attempts on Mrs. Wix's part to master what "it said" on the papers. When he asked the pair how they liked
