Pray, don't mention it. We are to have no one else. Quite a family
party. I shall be quite disappointed if I don't see you all. The
garden is looking beautifully now."

"And one more wouldn't make a bit of difference. Miss Rose, can't you
speak a good word for me," whispered Charlie.

"Thank you," said Graeme, in answer to Mrs Grove. "I have been longing
to show Mrs Snow your garden. I hope the roses are not quite over."

"Oh, no!" said Arthur. "There are any number left; and Charlie, man, be
sure and bring your flute to waken the echoes of the grove. It will be
delightful by moonlight, won't it, Rosie?"

Mrs Grove gave a little start of surprise at the liberty taken by
Arthur. "So unlike him," she thought. Mr Millar's coming would make
the enlargement of the table absolutely necessary. However, she might
ask one or two other people whom she ought to have asked before, "and
have it over," as she said. So she smiled sweetly, and said,--

"Pray do, Mr Millar. We shall expect you with the rest."

Charlie would be delighted, and said so.

"But the flute," added he to Rose. "Well, for that agreeable fiction
your brother is responsible. And a family party will be indeed
charming."

Dining at Grove House was not to any of them the pleasantest of affairs,
on those occasions when it was Mrs Grove's intention to distinguish
herself, and astonish other people, by what she called a state dinner.
Graeme, who was not apt to shirk unpleasant duties, made no secret of
her dislike to them, and caught at any excuse to absent herself with an
eagerness which Fanny declared to be anything but polite. But, sitting
at table in full dress, among dull people, for an indefinite length of
time, for no good purpose that she had been able to discover, was a
sacrifice which neither Graeme nor any of the others felt inclined to
make often.

A dinner _en famille_, however, with the dining-room windows open, and
the prospect of a pleasant evening in the garden, was a very different
matter. It was not merely endurable, it was delightful. So Rose
arrayed herself in her pretty pink muslin, and then went to superintend
the toilette of Mrs Snow--that is, she went to arrange the folds of her
best black silk, and to insist on her wearing her prettiest cap--in a
state of pleasurable excitement that was infectious, and the whole party
set off in fine spirits. Graeme and Rose exchanged doubtful glances as
they passed the dining-room