Wherewith the friends fell into conversation more immediately interesting to themselves, while at the other end of the court, sheltered by a great orange-tree, a committee of the “Traveller’s Joy” was held.

For that serial still survived, though it could never be called a periodical, since it was an intermittent, and sometimes came out very rapidly, sometimes with intervals of many months; but it was always sent to, and greatly relished by, the absent members of the original party, at first at Eton, and later, two in their barracks, and one at his college at Oxford, whither, to his great satisfaction, he had gone by means of a well-won scholarship, not at his aunt’s expense.

Jotapata’s lengthy romance had died a natural death in the winter that had been spent between Egypt and Palestine.  So far from picking up ideas from it there, Babie, in the actual sight of Mount Hermon’s white crown, had begged not to be put in mind of such nonsense, and had never recurred to it; but the wells of fancy had never been dried, and the young people were happily putting together their bits of journal, their bits of history, the description of the great amphitheatre, a poem of Babie’s on St. Louis’s death, a spirited translation in Scott-like metre of Armine’s of the opening of the AEneid, also one from the French, by Sydney, on Arab customs, and all Lord Fordham had been able to collect about Hippo, also “The Single Eye,” by Allen, and “Marco’s Felucca,” by Armine and Babie in partnership, and a fair proportion of drollery.

“There was a space left for the wedding, the greatest event the ‘Traveller’s Joy’ had ever had on record,” said Sydney, as she touched up the etching at the top of her paper, sitting on a low stool by a low mother-of-pearl inlaid Eastern table.

“The greatest and the last,” chimed in Babie, as she worked away at the lace she was finishing for the bride.

“I don’t see why it should be the last of the poor old ‘Joy,’” said Lord Fordham, sorting the MSS. which were scattered round him on the ground.

“Well, somehow I feel as if we had come to the end of a division of our lives,” returned Babie.

“Having done with swaddling bands, eh, Infanta?” said Lord Fordham, while Armine hastily sketched in pen and ink, Babie, with her hair flying and swaddling bands off, executing a war-dance.  She did not like it.

“For shame, Armine!  Don’t you know how dreadful it is to lose dear Miss Ogilvie?”

“Of course, Babie,” said her brother, “I didn’t think you were such a Babie as not to know that things go by contraries.”

“It is too tender a spot for irony, Armie,” said Lord Fordham.

“Well,” said Armine, “I shall be obliged to do something outrageous presently, so look out!”

“Not really!” said Sydney.

“Yes, really,” said Babie, recovering; “I see what he means.  He would like to do anything rather than sit and think that this is the last time we shall all be together again in this way.”