lishment upon which she prided herself. She got up from the table,
when she had poured out another cup of tea for her grandfather, and
without saying a word went to the little piano. It was not much of an
instrument, and Reginald May was very little of a _connoisseur_.
Northcote, who knew her gifts, gave himself up to listening, but the
Tozers looked on, shaking their heads, and it was only after some time
had passed, that Reginald began to understand that he was listening to
something which he had never heard before. Ursula's school-girl tunes
had never interested him very much; he did not know what this was which
seemed to creep into his heart by his ears. He got up by and by, and
stole towards the piano bewildered.

"It'll soon be over, sir," said Tozer, encouragingly. "Don't you run
away, Mr. May. Them are queer tunes, I allow, but they don't last long,
and your company's an honour. As for the playing, it'll soon be over;
you needn't run away."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE HALL.

It is unnecessary to say that the dinner party in the Hall bore very
little resemblance to those simple amusements in No. 6, Grange Lane.
There were three or four people to meet Mr. May, who, as an orator and
literary man, had greater reputation even such a little way from home
than he had in his own town. He was a very good preacher, and those
articles of his were much admired as "thoughtful" papers, searching into
many mental depths, and fathoming the religious soul with wonderful
insight. Ladies especially admired them; the ladies who were
intellectual, and found pleasure in the feeling of being more advanced
than their neighbours. The Rector's wife of the parish in which the
Dorsets lived applied herself with great vigour to the art of drawing
him out. She asked him questions with that air of delightful submission
to an intellectual authority which some ladies love to assume, and which
it pleases many men to accept. His daughters were not at all reverential
of Mr. May, and it soothed him to get marks of devotion and literary
submission out of doors. Even Sophy Dorset had gone through the phase of
admiration for her cousin. This had been dissipated, it is true, long
ago; but yet she did not laugh, as she usually did, at the believers in
him. She listened to Mrs. Rector plying him with eager questions, asking
his advice on that point and the other, and smiled, but was charitable.
As for Cousin Anne, she was charitable by nature, and al