d her rinking and looked at
her friend in surprise. 'But it is your home,' she said.

'I'd rather live in a cottage,' declared Sarah.

'You say so; but I'd just like to see you turning up your aristocratic
nose at the tiny rooms; only, of course, your nose wouldn't turn up
properly, not being a snub like mine. Anyway, it would look down on
everything. But, I say, Sarah, what a lovely rink this hall would make!
If it weren't so hot we might have a fine rink this evening.'

'Oh my dear, not in this 'all; it's real cedar-board, brought express
from abroad for Mr Clay!' cried Mrs Clay in shocked accents. 'I'm sure I
don't know w'at 'e'd say if you was to suggest such a thing. Pray don't
name it to 'im.'

Horatia laughed gaily. 'I was only in fun. Of course, I shouldn't rink on
a parquet floor. I should like to see our butler's face if I did it on
our polished oak. I think I'll suggest it to Mr Clay this evening,' she
announced.

'You won't see him again. He never comes into the drawing-room in the
evening, thank goodness!' said Sarah. The 'thank goodness' slipped out
from habit, and she was rather glad that Horatia did not notice it.

'We shall just 'ave a quiet evenin'. Mr Clay likes to smoke 'is pipe
after dinner in 'is study, an' I go an' talk to 'im sometimes. So per'aps
you won't mind if I go an' leave you two to enjoy yourselves alone.--Your
father seems quite cheerful to-night.--I think you an' 'e will get on, my
dear,' said Mrs Clay, who was quite cheerful herself, owing to her
husband being in a pleasant humour.

It was the first peaceful dinner they had had since Sarah came home; Mark
Clay was never a very pleasant companion, and the dinner-table was very
often the scene of his rages, but Sarah seemed to anger her father
without even opening her mouth, and her mother, much as she missed her
only daughter, was generally relieved when she returned to school.

But before Mrs Clay thought it was time for her husband to have finished
his wine and retired to his study to smoke, to the surprise of all three
he appeared in the drawing-room, without the obnoxious pipe, and with
quite a pleasant expression for him.

'I'm thinking this lass will be dull with only us plain folk, and so I've
got a concert for her. Now, what would you like to hear--the opera at
Covent Garden, the Queen's Hall concert, or what?'

'Oh, how lovely! The opera, please. That is better than rinking in your
parquet hall, Mr Clay,' cried Hora