er feet. Mary planted Jinny next her
and left them to their talk of nurseries: for Richard's sake she wished
to screen Agnes from the vulgarities of Mrs. Devine. Herself she saw
with dismay, on entering, that Richard had already been pounced on by
the husband: there he stood, listening to his ex-greengrocer's
words--they were interlarded with many an awkward and familiar
gesture--on his face an expression his wife knew well, while one small,
impatient hand tugged at his whiskers.

But "old Mrs. Ocock" came to his rescue, bearing down upon him with an
outstretched hand, and a howdee-do that could be heard all over the
room: Tilly had long forgotten that she had ever borne him a grudge;
she it was who could now afford to patronise. "I hope I see you well,
doctor?--Oh, not a bit of it.... I left him at 'ome. Mr. O. has
something wrong, if you please, with his leg or his big toe--gout or
rheumatiz or something of that sort--and 'e's been so crabby with it
for the last day or so that to-night I said to 'im: 'No, my dear,
you'll just take a glass of hot toddy, and go early and comfortable to
your bed.' Musical parties aren't in his line anyhow."

A lively clatter of tongues filled the room, the space of which was
taxed to its utmost: there were present, besides the friends and
intimates of the house, several of Mahony's colleagues, a couple of
Bank Managers, the Police Magistrate, the Postmaster, the Town Clerk,
all with their ladies. Before long, however, ominous pauses began to
break up the conversation, and Mary was accomplished hostess enough to
know what these meant. At a sign from her, Jerry lighted the candles on
the piano, and thereupon a fugue-like chorus went up: "Mrs. Mahony,
won't you play something?--Oh, do!--Yes, please, do.... I should enjoy
it so much."

Mary did not wait to be pressed; it was her business to set the ball
rolling; and she stood up and went to the piano as unconcernedly as she
would have gone to sweep a room or make a bed.

Placing a piece of music on the rack, she turned down the corners of
the leaves. But here Archdeacon Long's handsome, weatherbeaten face
looked over her shoulder. "I hope you're going to give us the cannons,
Mrs. Mahony?" he said genially. And so Mary obliged him by laying aside
the MORCEAU she had chosen, and setting up instead a "battle-piece,"
that was a general favourite.

"Aha! that's the ticket," said Henry Ocock, and rubbed his hands as
Mary struck up, pianissim