the entrance to the hall.

"You know, Matilda, I do not intend to dance to-night," said Mrs Amelia
in her sedate fashion: it was as if she sampled each word before
parting with it.

"Oh, I know, bless you! and know why, too. If only it's not another
false alarm! Poor old pa' so like to have a grandchild 'e was allowed
to carry round. 'E mustn'n go near Henry's, of course, for fear the kid
'ud swallow one of 'is dropped aitches and choke over it." And Tilly
threw back her head and laughed. "But you must hurry up, Mely, you
know, if you want to oblige 'im."

"Really, Tilly!" expostulated Mary. ("She sometimes DOES go too far,"
she thought to herself. "The poor little woman!") "Let us two keep
together," she said as she took Amelia's arm. "I don't intend to dance
much either, as my husband isn't here."

But once inside the gaily decorated hall, she found it impossible to
keep her word. Even on her way to a seat beside Agnes Ocock she was
repeatedly stopped, and, when she sat down, up came first one, then
another, to "request the pleasure." She could not go on refusing
everybody: if she did, it would look as if she deliberately set out to
be peculiar--a horrible thought to Mary. Besides, many of those who
made their bow were important, influential gentlemen; for Richard's
sake she must treat them politely.

For his sake, again, she felt pleased; rightly or wrongly she put the
many attentions shown her down to the fact of her being his wife. So
she turned and offered apologies to Agnes and Amelia, feeling at the
same time thankful that Richard had not Mr. Henry's jealous
disposition. There sat Agnes, looking as pretty as a picture, and was
afraid to dance with any one but her own husband. And he preferred to
play at cards!

"I think, dear, you might have ventured to accept the Archdeacon for a
quadrille," she whispered behind her fan, as Agnes regretfully declined
Mr. Long.

But Agnes shook her head. "It's better not, Mary. It saves trouble
afterwards. Henry DOESN'T care to see it." Perhaps Agnes herself, once
a passionate dancer, was growing a little too comfortable, thought
Mary, as her own programme wandered from hand to hand.

Among the last to arrive was Purdy, red with haste, and making a great
thump with his lame leg as he crossed the floor.

"I'm beastly late, Polly. What have you got left for me?"

"Why, really nothing, Purdy. I thought you weren't coming. But you may
put your name down here if you lik