chewed Sen-sens.

"Please to meet you, Mr. Carey," she said. "This is your first visit to
our social evenings, ain't it? I expect you feel a bit shy, but there's no
cause to, I promise you that."

She did her best to make people feel at home. She slapped them on the
shoulders and laughed a great deal.

"Ain't I a pickle?" she cried, turning to Philip. "What must you think of
me? But I can't 'elp meself."

Those who were going to take part in the social evening came in, the
younger members of the staff mostly, boys who had not girls of their own,
and girls who had not yet found anyone to walk with. Several of the young
gentlemen wore lounge suits with white evening ties and red silk
handkerchiefs; they were going to perform, and they had a busy, abstracted
air; some were self-confident, but others were nervous, and they watched
their public with an anxious eye. Presently a girl with a great deal of
hair sat at the piano and ran her hands noisily across the keyboard. When
the audience had settled itself she looked round and gave the name of her
piece.

"A Drive in Russia."

There was a round of clapping during which she deftly fixed bells to her
wrists. She smiled a little and immediately burst into energetic melody.
There was a great deal more clapping when she finished, and when this was
over, as an encore, she gave a piece which imitated the sea; there were
little trills to represent the lapping waves and thundering chords, with
the loud pedal down, to suggest a storm. After this a gentleman sang a
song called Bid me Good-bye, and as an encore obliged with Sing me to
Sleep. The audience measured their enthusiasm with a nice discrimination.
Everyone was applauded till he gave an encore, and so that there might be
no jealousy no one was applauded more than anyone else. Miss Bennett
sailed up to Philip.

"I'm sure you play or sing, Mr. Carey," she said archly. "I can see it in
your face."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Don't you even recite?"

"I have no parlour tricks."

The buyer in the 'gentleman's hosiery' was a well-known reciter, and he
was called upon loudly to perform by all the assistants in his department.
Needing no pressing, he gave a long poem of tragic character, in which he
rolled his eyes, put his hand on his chest, and acted as though he were in
great agony. The point, that he had eaten cucumber for supper, was
divulged in the last line and was greeted with laughter, a little forced
because every