urnham blood met its match.

John re-took his seat in the front of the wagonette, Trotty was lifted
up to see the rosettes and streamers adorning the horses, the gentlemen
waved their hats, and off they went again at a fine pace, and with a
whip-cracking that brought the neighbours to their windows.

Polly had pink cheeks with it all, and even sought to excuse the meagre
interest John had shown in his daughter. "Trotty was only a baby in
arms when he saw her last. Besides, I think she reminded him too much
of her dear mother. For I'm sure, though he doesn't let it be seen,
John still feels his loss."

"I wonder!" said Mahony slowly and with a strong downward inflection,
as he turned indoors.

On the eve of the polling Polly had the honour of accompanying her
brother to a performance at the Theatre Royal. A ticket came for
Richard, too; but, as usual, he was at the last moment called out. So
Purdy took her on his arm and escorted her--not exactly comfortably;
for, said Polly, no one who had not tried it, knew how hard it was to
walk arm-in-arm with a lame person, especially if you did not want to
hurt his feelings--Purdy took her to the theatre, helped her to
unmuffle and to change her boots, and bore her company till her brother
arrived. They had seats in the centre of the front row of the dress
circle; all eyes were turned on them as they entered; and Polly's
appearance was the subject of audible and embarrassing comment.

In every interval John was up and away, to shake a hand here, pass the
time of day there; and watching him with affectionate pride, Polly
wondered how Richard could ever have termed him "high-handed and
difficult." John had the knack, it seemed to her, of getting on with
people of every class, and of always finding the right word to say. But
as the evening advanced his seat remained empty even while the curtain
was up, and she was glad when, between the fourth and fifth acts, her
husband at last appeared.

On his way to her Mahony ran into his brother-in-law, and John
buttonholed him to discuss with him the prospects of the morrow. As
they talked, their eyes rested on Polly's glossy black chignon; on the
nape of her white neck; on the beautiful, rounded young shoulders
which, in obedience to the fashion, stood right out of her blue silk
bodice. Mahony shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.
He could not imagine Polly enjoying her exposed position, and
disapproved strongly of Jo