she had no idea such luck was in store for
her.

"You are the greatest hypocrite I ever met in my life," Sir Penthony
says in her ear, when Buscarlet, smiling, bowing, radiant, has moved
on.

"I am not indeed; you altogether mistake me," Molly answers. "If you
only knew how his anxiety to please, and Marcia's determination
_not_ to be pleased, amuse me, you would understand how thoroughly
I enjoy his visits."

"I ask your pardon. I had no idea we had a student of human nature
among us. Don't study _me_, Miss Massereene, or it will unfit you
for further exertions; I am a living mass of errors."

"Alas that I cannot contradict you!" says Cecil, with a woful sigh, who
is standing near them.

Mr. Amherst, who never by any chance darkens the doors of a church,
receives them in the drawing-room on their return. He is in an amiable
mood and pleased to be gracious. Seizing upon Mr. Buscarlet, he carries
him off with him to his private den, so that for the time being there
is an end of them.

"For all small mercies," begins Mr. Potts, solemnly, when the door has
closed on them; but he is interrupted by Lady Stafford.

"'Small,' indeed," grumbles she. "What do you mean? I shan't be able to
eat my lunch if that odious little man remains, with his 'Yes, Lady
Stafford;' 'No, Lady Stafford;' 'I quite agree with your ladyship,' and
so on. Oh, that I could drop my title!"--this with a glance at Sir
Penthony;--"at all events while he is present." This with another and
more gracious glance at Stafford. "Positively I feel my appetite going
already, and that is a pity, as it was an uncommonly good one."

"Cheer up, dear," says Molly; "and remember there will be dinner later
on. Poor Mr. Buscarlet! There must be something wrong with me, because
I cannot bring myself to think so disparagingly of him as you all do."

"I am sorry for you. Not to know Mr. Buscarlet's little peculiarities
of behavior argues yourself unknown," Marcia says, with a good deal of
intention. "And I presume they cannot have struck you, or you would
scarcely be so tolerant."

"He certainly sneezes very incessantly and very objectionably," Molly
says, thoughtfully. "I hate a man who sneezes publicly; and his sneeze
is so unpleasant,--so exactly like that of a cat. A little wriggle of
the entire body, and then a little soft--splash!"

"My _dear_ Molly!" expostulates Lady Stafford.

"But is it not?" protests she; "is it not an accurate description?"

"Yes,