as I expected. The doctor and
Worthington and Fitzhugh were already there, and waiting. I stood by Mr.
Carvel's chair, receiving the guests, and presently came Mr. Swain and
Patty.

"Heigho!" called Mr. Carvel, when he saw her; "here is the young lady
that hath my old affections. You are right welcome, Mr. Swain. Scipio,
another chair! 'Tis not over the wall any more, Miss Patty, with our
flowered India silk. But I vow I love you best with your etui."

Patty, too, was carried off, for you may be sure that Will Fotheringay
and Singleton were standing on one foot and then the other, waiting for
Mr. Carvel to have done. Next arrived my aunt, in a wide calash and a
wider hoop, her stays laced so that she limped, and her hair wonderfully
and fearfully arranged by her Frenchman. Neither she nor Grafton was
slow to shower congratulations upon my grandfather and myself. Mr.
Marmaduke went through the ceremony after them. Dorothy's mother drew me
aside. As long as I could remember her face had been one that revealed a
life's disappointment. But to-day I thought it bore a trace of a deeper
anxiety.

"How well I recall this day, eighteen years ago, Richard," she said.
"And how proud your dear mother was that she had given a son to Captain
Jack. She had prayed for a son. I hope you will always do your parents
credit, my dear boy. They were both dear, dear friends of mine."

My Aunt Caroline's harsher voice interrupted her.

"Gadzooks, ma'am!" she cried, as she approached us, "I have never in my
life laid eyes upon such beauty as your daughter's. You will have to
take her home, Mrs. Manners, to do her justice. You owe it her, ma'am.
Come, nephew, off with you, and head the minuet with Miss Dolly!"

My grandfather was giving the word to the fiddlers. But whether a desire
to cross my aunt held me back, or a sense of duty to greet the guests not
already come, or a vague intuition of some impending news drawn from Mrs.
Manners and Dorothy, I know not. Mr. Fitzhugh was easily persuaded to
take my place, and presently I slipped unnoticed into a shaded seat on
the side of the upper terrace, whence I could see the changing figures on
the green. And I thought of the birthday festivals Dolly and I had spent
here, almost since we were of an age to walk. Wet June days, when the
broad wings of the house rang with the sound of silver laughter and
pattering feet, and echoed with music from the hall; and merry June days,
when the laughter ri