ited
to share that meal with them. They took tea, the daintiest,
pleasantest, most charming of teas, as the _elite_ of Marbridge knew;
everybody--or, rather, a selection of everybody, had had tea with them
one time or another. After that there was no record; the _elite_, who
would as soon have thought of going without their heads as without
their dinner, concluded they dined, because they were "one of us." But
some humbler folk were of opinion that they only dined once a week,
and that after morning service on Sundays; but even this idea was
dispelled when the eldest Miss Polkington was heard to excuse her
non-appearance at an organ recital because "lunch was always so late
on Sunday."

Let it not be imagined from this that the Polkingtons were common
people--they were not; they were extremely well connected; indeed,
their connections were one of the two striking features about them,
the other was their handicap, Captain Polkington, late of the ----th
Bengal Lancers. He was well connected, though not quite so much so as
his wife; still--well, but he was not very presentable. If only he
had been dead he would have been a valuable asset, but living, he was
decidedly rather a drawback; there are some relatives like this. Mrs.
Polkington bore up under it valiantly; in fact, they all did so well
that in time they, or at least she and two of her three daughters,
came almost to believe some of the legends they told of the Captain.

The Polkingtons lived at No. 27 East Street, which, as all who know
Marbridge are aware, is a very good street in which to live. The house
was rather small, but the drawing-room was good, with two beautiful
Queen Anne windows, and a white door with six panels. The rest of the
house did not matter. On the whole the drawing-room did not so very
much matter, because visitors seldom went into it when the Miss
Polkingtons were not there; and when they were, no one but a jealous
woman would have noticed that the furniture was rather slight, and
there were no flowers except those in obvious places.

There was only one Miss Polkington in the drawing-room that wintry
afternoon--Julia, the middle one of the three, the only one who could
not fill even a larger room to the complete obliteration of furniture
and fitments. Julia was not pretty, therefore she was seldom to be
found in the drawing-room alone; she knew better than to attempt to
occupy that stage by herself. But it was now almost seven o'clock, to