n carried on in constrained and
self-conscious undertones. Milly, looking very pretty in a simple
white frock with an orange sash, ran across to greet the newcomers,
kissing her uncle heartily and Mrs. Bindle dutifully.

"My!" said Bindle, "ain't we pretty to-night. You an' me'll go off
with the biscuit, Millikins." Then he added, after surveying the
circle of vacant faces, "Looks to me as if they want a bit o' ginger.

"'Ullo, 'Earty," said Bindle, advancing towards his brother-in-law,
"sorry we're late, but the coachman was drunk."

Mr. Hearty shuddered.

As he led the Bindles round the room, introducing them with great
elaboration to each and every guest, he marvelled at Bindle's clothes.
He himself wore a black frock-coat, very shiny at the edges, with
trousers that seemed far too long and hung in folds over his boots.

"'Ullo, Martha," Bindle cried, regarding Mrs. Hearty, whose ample
person was clothed in a black skirt and a pale yellow bodice, the neck
of which was cut in a puritan "V." "You looks like a little
canary-bird." Then bending down and regarding her earnestly: "Yes, I'm
blowed! why, there's two chins wot I ain't seen before."

Whereat Mrs. Hearty collapsed into ripples and wheezes. Bindle was the
only self-possessed person in the room. He regarded his fellow-guests
with keen interest, noted the odour of camphor and mustiness and the
obvious creases in the men's coats. "Smells like a pawn-shop," he
muttered. Then he came to the Rev. Mr. Sopley, a gaunt, elderly man,
with ragged beard that covered his entire face, save the cheeks which,
like two little hillocks of flesh, peeped out from a riot of whiskered
undergrowth.

"'Ow are yer, sir?" asked Bindle.

Mr. Sopley raised a pair of agonised eyes. Before he had time to reply
Mr. Hearty had dragged Bindle on to the next guest.

"Who's 'e?" enquired Bindle in a hoarse whisper, easily heard by
everyone in the room. "'E seems to 'ave sort o' let his face grow
wild."

Mr. Hearty, who had completed the introductions, coughed loudly.

"Won't you have an orange, Joseph?" he enquired.

Bindle came to a dead stop.

"'Ave a wot?" he asked with great emphasis. "'Ave a _wot_?"

"An--an--orange, or--or--perhaps you'd sooner have an apple?" Mr.
Hearty was painfully nervous.

"Now look 'ere, 'Earty," said Bindle, taking his brother-in-law by the
lapel of his coat, "do I look like oranges? Me wot 'asn't got a bib
wi' me."

Mr. Hearty look