e," and Mary handed him her programme
with her thumb on an empty space: she generally made a point of sitting
out a dance with Purdy that he might not feel neglected; and of late
she had been especially careful not to let him notice any difference in
her treatment of him. But when he gave back the card she found that he
had scribbled his initials in all three blank lines. "Oh, you mustn't
do that. I'm saving those for Richard."

"Our dance, I believe, Mrs. Mahony?" said a deep voice as the band
struck up "The Rat Quadrilles." And, swaying this way and that in her
flounced blue tarletan, Mary rose, put her hand within the proffered
crook, and went off with the Police Magistrate, an elderly greybeard;
went to walk or be teetotumed through the figures of the dance, with
the supremely sane unconcern that she displayed towards all the arts.

"What odd behaviour!" murmured Mrs. Henry, following Purdy's retreating
form with her eyes. "He took no notice of us whatever. And did you see,
Amelia, how he stood and stared after Mary? Quite rudely, I thought."

Here Mrs. Grindle was forced to express an opinion of her own--always a
trial for the nervous little woman. "I think it's because dear Mary
looks so charming to-night, Agnes," she ventured in her mouselike way.
Then moved up to make room for Archdeacon Long, who laid himself out to
entertain the ladies.

* * * * *

It was after midnight when Mahony reached home. He would rather have
gone to bed, but having promised Mary to put in an appearance, he
changed and walked down to the town.

The ball was at its height. He skirted the rotating couples, seeking
Mary. Friends hailed him.

"Ah, well done, doctor!"

"Still in time for a spin, sir."

"Have you seen my wife?"

"Indeed and I have. Mrs. Mahony's the belle o' the ball."

"Pleased to hear it. Where is she now?"

"Look here, Mahony, we've had a reg'lar dispute," cried Willie Urquhart
pressing up; he was flushed and decidedly garrulous. "Almost came to
blows we did, over whose was the finest pair o' shoulders--your wife's
or Henry O.'s. I plumped for Mrs. M., and I b'lieve she topped the
poll. By Jove! that blue gown makes 'em look just like ... what shall I
say? ... like marble."

"Does fortune smile?" asked Mahony of Henry Ocock as he passed the
card-players: he had cut Urquhart short with a nod. "So his Excellency
didn't turn up, after all?"

"Sent a telegraphic communication at the last moment. No, I haven't