teady growth.

He saw nothing more of the Pynsents, however, until February, when, on
the day of the first drawing-room, he ran up against Sir John in
Piccadilly.

"Come along," said Sir John instantly, "I want you to come to my wife's.
I'm late, and she won't scold me if you are with me. I shall use you as
a buffer."

Sydney laughed and shook his head. "Very sorry, too busy, I'm afraid,"
he began.

But Sir John would not be baffled. He had put his hand within Sydney's
arm and was walking him rapidly down ---- Street.

"My dear fellow, we've not seen you for an age. You may just as well
look in this afternoon. Nan's been presented to-day, and there's a
drawing-room tea going on--a function of adoration to the dresses, I
believe. The women will take it as a personal compliment if you come and
admire them."

Mentally, Sydney shrugged his shoulders. He had had enough of paying
compliments to Miss Pynsent. But he saw that there was no help for it.
Sir John would be offended if he did not go, and really he had no
engagement. And he rather wondered how Miss Pynsent would look in Court
attire. She had worn a plain cotton and a flapping straw hat when he saw
her last.

Lady Pynsent's drawing-room was crowded, but she greeted her husband and
Mr. Campion with great cordiality. She was wearing an elaborate costume
of blue velvet and blush-rose satin, and bore an indescribable
resemblance to a cockatoo. A dowager in black satin and two _debutantes_
in white, who belonged to some country place and were resting at Lady
Pynsent's house before going home in the evening, were also present; but
at first Sydney did not see Nan Pynsent. She had entered a little
morning-room, with two or three friends of her own age, who wanted to
inspect her dress more narrowly; and it was not until Sydney had been in
the room for five or ten minutes that she reappeared.

Was this stately and beautiful woman Nan Pynsent indeed? Sydney was not
learned in the art of dress, or he might have appraised more exactly the
effect produced by the exquisite lace, the soft white ostrich feathers,
the milk-white pearls, that Nan was wearing on this memorable occasion.
He was well accustomed by this time to the sight of pretty girls and
pretty dresses; but there was something in Miss Pynsent's face and
figure which struck him with a new and almost reluctant sort of
admiration.

He was looking at her, without knowing how intent his gaze had become,
when she