the priest's
smooth, shiny face; the cigar ashes had left grey streaks on the front
of his cassock. He avoided Annixter, fearing, no doubt, an allusion
to his game cocks, and took up his position back of the second rank of
chairs by the musicians' stand, beaming encouragingly upon every one who
caught his eye.

Annixter was saluted right and left as he slowly went the round of the
floor. At every moment he had to pause to shake hands and to listen to
congratulations upon the size of his barn and the success of his dance.
But he was distrait, his thoughts elsewhere; he did not attempt to
hide his impatience when some of the young men tried to engage him in
conversation, asking him to be introduced to their sisters, or their
friends' sisters. He sent them about their business harshly, abominably
rude, leaving a wake of angry disturbance behind him, sowing the seeds
of future quarrels and renewed unpopularity. He was looking for Hilma
Tree.

When at last he came unexpectedly upon her, standing near where Mrs.
Tree was seated, some half-dozen young men hovering uneasily in her
neighbourhood, all his audacity was suddenly stricken from him; his
gruffness, his overbearing insolence vanished with an abruptness that
left him cold. His old-time confusion and embarrassment returned to him.
Instead of speaking to her as he intended, he affected not to see her,
but passed by, his head in the air, pretending a sudden interest in a
Japanese lantern that was about to catch fire.

But he had had a single distinct glimpse of her, definite, precise,
and this glimpse was enough. Hilma had changed. The change was
subtle, evanescent, hard to define, but not the less unmistakable. The
excitement, the enchanting delight, the delicious disturbance of "the
first ball," had produced its result. Perhaps there had only been this
lacking. It was hard to say, but for that brief instant of time Annixter
was looking at Hilma, the woman. She was no longer the young girl upon
whom he might look down, to whom he might condescend, whose little,
infantile graces were to be considered with amused toleration.

When Annixter returned to the harness room, he let himself into a
clamour of masculine hilarity. Osterman had, indeed, made a marvellous
"fertiliser," whiskey for the most part, diluted with champagne and
lemon juice. The first round of this drink had been welcomed with
a salvo of cheers. Hooven, recovering his spirits under its violent
stimulatio