duly recognised by Europe, and moved Bones to an unearthly dance,
dryly but decisively accompanied on his instrument. A sudden outburst of
rhythmic banjo-thuds and song followed, about Old Joe, who kicked up
behind and before, and a yellow girl, who kicked up behind Old Joe. Then
the Company stopped abruptly and went home to possible soap and water.
Silence was left for the lady and gentleman at No. 102 to speak to one
another in undertones, and to wonder what o'clock it was.

"They ought to be back by now," says she. "I wonder they are so late.
They are making quite a visitation of it."

Says he:--"Gwen is fascinated with the old prizefighter. Just like her!
I don't care how long they stop; do you?"

"I don't think it matters," says she, "to a quarter of an hour. The
sunset is going to be lovely." This is to depersonalise the position. A
feeble attempt, under the circumstances.

It must have been past the end of that quarter of an hour, when--normal
relations having been resumed, of course--Miss Dickenson interrupted a
sub-vocal review of the growth of their acquaintance to say, "Come in!"
The tap that was told to come in was Maggie. Was she to be making the
tea? Was she to lay it? On the whole she might do both, as the delay of
the absentees longer was in the nature of things impossible.

But, subject to the disposition of Mr. Pellew's elbows on the
window-sill, they might go on looking out at the sunset and feel
_regles_. Short of endearments, Maggie didn't matter.

The self-assertion of Helios was amazing. He made nothing of what one
had thought would prove a cloud-veil--tore it up, brushed it aside. He
made nothing, too, of the powers of eyesight of those whose gaze dwelt
on him over boldly.

"It _is_ them," said Miss Dickenson, referring to a half-recognised
barouche that had turned the corner below. "But who on earth have they
got with them? I can't see for my eyes."

"Only some friend they've picked up," said Mr. Pellew. But he rubbed his
own eyes, to get rid of the sun. Recovered sight made him exclaim:--"But
what are the people stopping for?... I say, something's up! Come along!"
For, over and above a mysterious impression of the unusual that could
hardly be set down to the bird's-eye view as its sole cause, it was
clear that every passer-by was stopping, to look at the carriage.
Moreover, there was confusion of voices--Gwen's dominant. Mr. Pellew did
not wait to distinguish speech. He only repeated:-