WHEN Mr. Benjamin Simpson married Miss Violet Anvil he omitted to mention the fact that he was a widower with a daughter.

       The reason for this want of oonfidence was partly owing to his desire to appear youthful in the eyes of his intended, and partly because she had once expressed her opinion rather forcibly against widowers with families marrying again. Also he was doubtful how his offspring would relish the idea of a new "Mamma."

       So he said nothing, and when his daughter Winnie returned from France, where had been completing her education, he at once placed her with an old aunt of his, where, being a fond father, he often visited her.

       Husband and wife were sitting at breakfast one morning.

       "Oh, Ben," she cried, after opening her letters, "Mother wants us to go down there for a week from next Wedneaday. She's got a surprise for me; I wonder what it is. She says we must come."

       "Well, Vi, I'll see about it. I shall be rather busy next week," he added. artfully, scenting an opportunity of taking his little Winnie to the seaside. "But that need not prevent your going, my dear, and I'll run down for a day or so if I can."

       So it was arranged.

       Directly he got to his office he wrote the following to his daughter:—

       "Dear Winnie, — I have been very busy of late, but I think I can spare a week from next Wednesday to take you to the seasida for a little holiday. You shall choose the yourself. — In haste, your affectionate

"DAD."      

       The answer came by return:-

       "Darling old Dad, — Lovely. You a kind old thing. I should like best to go to Southsea to see the troops and things, &c., &c. — Ever your loving

"WINNIE."      

       The days passed and found Mr. Simpson and Winnie enjoyhing themselves immensly. She never tired of seeing troops embarking for South Africa, and her enthsiasm knew no bounds her father told her they would that morning be able to witness the welcome given to some who were returning from thence.

       They ware standing in the crowd, there was a great noise, shouts, horrays, bands, &c.

       All at once a well-dressed woman pushed her way out of the chaos, threw herself into the arms of a stalwart officer just disembarked.

       Mr. Simpson rubbed his eyes. It was — no — couldn't be — yes it was — his wife.

*      *       *       *       *       *

       Poor man! His brain was hardly equal to taking in the entire situation all at once. His first idea was to get Winnie away from a possible meeting.

       In this he succeded, getting back to the hotel in quite a breathless condition.

       Winnie was vexed, but he explained that he felt ill, and that squared matters for the time being.

       A short time after the lunch-gong sounded, and they went down and took their sesta. They noticed two chairs opposite tilted up, but the people they were engaged for were evidently late.

       In a minute or so, however, a waiter ushered a lady and gentleman to the reserved seats.

       The lady glanced across the table, started violently, and exclaimed, "Benjamin!"

       The four looked at each other for a moment, then Mr. Simpson, feeling he must say somthing, frigidly introduced —

       "My daughter."

       A palpable sneer curled round Mrs. Simpson's mouth, but she followed his suit by chilily presenting —

       "My father."

       Mr. Simpson was absolutely bursting with indignation. How dare the doubt his word, and imagine she was paying him back in his own coin by that flagrant faleshood.

       "Really," he said, "I was a witness to your meeting; your filial enthusiasm does you credit."

       "And you," she sneered, "must well be proud of such a daughter. Though, in a adopting another, I should advise you to choose something younger. She (referring to Winnie) would make you out a father at twelve years, according to the age you told me you were."

       He winced, but endeavoured to keep his temper under.

       "What a pity," he remarked, "that I didn't run down to see your mother to-day."

       "Of course you couldn't," she said. "It's your busy season in town, isn't it?"

       At lest, luncheon over, husband and wife find themselves alone; all need for restriction is over.

       "Now," he thundered, "give me an explanation of your presence here."

       "Give you an explanation? Well, I like that. Certainly not. I'm going to divorce you, sir."

       "You'll pardon me, madam, but the boot is on the other foot. It is I, not you, who will get the divorce."

       "I understand it all now," she hissed; "your pressing business — your continual excuses to get me out of the way so that you might take that wretched minx to the seaside with you."

       "Don't you dare to allude to my daughter in those terms."

       "Daughter, indeed; why didn't you call her your mother? It would have looked just as probable."

       "More probable, perhaps, than your introducing me to your father, when I know that he is defunct."

       "How dare you doubt me?" she cried.

       "What are you doing in this hotel?"

       "We have engaged rooms here, sir, have you anything to say against that?"

       He gasped. "You — you admit then that you are staying here with that man?"

       "Of course, yes, for to-night only. After what has happened, he will to-morrow take me straight to my solicitors."

       "You will need them madam, you will need them."

       Just then the elderly officer entered the room.

       "Violet, my dear, what is the matter?" he asked.

       Further argument was stopped by a commotion outside in the hall.

       A middle-aged lady of very matronly proportions had just arrived, and was seizing every waiter and attendant within reach.

       "Where is he?" she puffed. "He has arrived. Oh, don't tell me he hasn't arrived."

       First man escapes. She pounces on another.

       "Oh, you see, I'm so upset — the papers said he was killed in Africa, and now he's come back — and, oh, if I find he's dead after all" — here she broke down weeping.

       Violet went to the door and took possession of the excited old party.

       "Come, mother," she said, drawing her into the room. "Here he is."

       And ths elderly officer gathered her to his bosom, where she wept copiously.

       Benjamin looked on in astonishment. This certainly was his mother-in-law; he had made a mistake and began to feel rather foolish.

       He went over to his wife.

       "Violet," he said in an undertone, "I apologise; I made a mistake."

       "Is that the only error you are guilty of?" she asked, coldly.

       "No, Violet," groaned the unhappy man; "but the others are not what you think they are. I deceived you, yes, but only with regard to my age, and my having been married before."

       "Prove it, sir — prove it."

       "My dear, I introduoed you to the proof, but you wouldn't believe me."

       However, the next day, with the assistance of some twenty-year-old documents, he succeeded in reducing his wife's temperature to a gentle pathos.

       "And you promise me you'll do anything this again?" she pleaded.

       He didn't think it was within the range of possibility, so gave the required promise.

       "Never, my darling; we'll have no more surprise parties."

       And they didn't.

(THE END)