erhaps----But it
was rarely, very rarely, that this perhaps came to pass. When it did it
was amid the crowd of some prodigious reception to which people "looked
in" for half an hour, and where on one occasion he found Elinor alone,
with that curious dignity about her, a little tragical, which comes of
neglect. He agreed with her mother, that he had never imagined Elinor's
youthful prettiness could have come to anything so near beauty. There
was a strained, wide open look in her eyes, which was half done by
looking out for some one, and half by defying any one to think that she
felt herself alone, or was pursuing that search with any anxiety. She
stood exceedingly erect, silent, observing everything, yet endeavouring
to appear as if she did not observe, altogether a singular and very
striking figure among the fashionable crowd, in which it seemed
everybody was chattering, smiling, gay or making believe to be gay,
except herself. When she saw John a sudden gleam of pleasure, followed
by a cloud of embarrassment, came over her face: but poor Elinor could
not help being glad to see some one she knew, some one who more or less
belonged to her; although it appeared she had the best of reasons for
being alone. "I was to meet Phil here," she said, "but somehow I must
have missed him." "Let us walk about a little, and we'll be sure to find
him," said John. She was so glad to take his arm, almost to cling to
him, to find herself with a friend. "I don't know many people here,"
she confided to John, leaning on his arm, with the familiar sisterly
dependence of old, "and I am so stupid about coming out by myself. It is
because I have never been used to it. There has always been mamma, and
then Phil; but I suppose he has been detained somewhere to-night. I
think I never felt so lost before, among all these strange people. He
knows everybody, of course."

"But you have a lot of friends, Elinor."

"Oh, yes," she said, brightly enough; "in our own set: but this is what
Phil calls more serious than our set. I should not wonder in the least
if he had shirked it at the last, knowing I would be sure to come."

"That is just the reason why I should have thought he would not shirk
it," said John.

"Ah, that's because you're not married," said Elinor, but with a laugh
in which there was no bitterness. "Don't you know one good of a wife is
to do the man's social duties for him, to appear at the dull places and
save his credit? Oh, I don't ob