Kingsland smoothly, but with a covert
glance of his eye at Mr. Falkirk. Both Primrose and Mr.
Falkirk glanced at him in return, but his words got no other
recognition, for people began to come upon the scene. And the
scene speedily became gay; everybody arriving by the side
entrance and passing through the broad hall to the front of
the house. Wych Hazel, returned from her errand, came now
slowly through the hall herself with the last arrival.

'I feared you were ill with fatigue,' said a pleasant man's
voice. 'Three times I have called to inquire, and three times
gone away in despair.'

'I was very tired.'

'But what was the matter?' said the gentleman, pausing in the
doorway. 'Some call of sudden illness? a demand upon your
sympathies?'

'Nothing of the kind.'

'How then?' said Captain Lancaster, with an appearance of
great interest. 'One does not lose a pleasure--and such a
pleasure--without at least begging to know why. If it is
permitted. We began to think that the witches must have got
hold of you in that dark room.'

'One did,' said the girl, so gravely that Captain Lancaster
was posed. She knew perfectly well what ears were listening;
but there was something in her nature which always disdained
to creep out of a difficulty; so she stood still, and answered
as he had spoken, aloud.

'O, Miss Kennedy,' cried Molly Seaton, 'that's a fib. Not a
real witch?'

'Pretty genuine, I think,' said Hazel, with her half laugh.

Now there is no way in the world to puzzle people like telling
them the truth. The gentleman and the lady were puzzled.
Stuart Nightingale and half a dozen more came up at the
instant; and the question of the game to be played, for the
time scattered all other questions.

For a while now the little green at Chickaree was a pretty
sight. Dotted with a moving crowd of figures, in gay-coloured
dresses, moving in graceful lines or standing in pretty
attitudes; the play, the shifting of places, the cries and the
laughter, all made a flashing, changing picture, full of life
and full of picturesque prettiness. The interests of the game
were at first absorbing. When a long match had been played,
however, and there was a pause for refreshments, there was
also a chance for rolling balls in the more airy manner Wych
Hazel had indicated.

'What was the matter the other night?' Stuart Nightingale
demanded softly, as he brought the little lady of the house an
ice.

'I could not stay.'

'Summ