ike a troubled sea.

"Your behaviour astonishes me!--after what you heard Mr. Vialls say."

"Mr. Vialls is an ignorant and foolish man," remarked Serena, without
looking up.

Then did the mother's rage burst forth without restraint, eloquent,
horrisonous. As if to save her ears, Serena went to the piano and began
to play. When the voice was silenced, she turned round.

"You had rather have me play than read that book? That shows how little
you understand of either. This is an _immoral_ piece of music! If you
knew what it meant you would scream in horror. It is _immoral_, and I
am going to practise it day after day."

The Mayoress stood awhile in mute astonishment, then, with purple face,
swept from the room.

The family consisted of four persons. Serena's brother, a young
gentleman of nineteen, articled to a solicitor in the town, was
accustomed to appear at meals, but seldom deigned to devote any more of
his leisure to the domestic circle. After luncheon to-day, as he stood
at the window with a sporting newspaper, his mother addressed him.

"We have company this evening, Raglan. Take care that you're not late."

"Who's coming?" asked the young man, without looking up.

"Mr. Eustace Glazzard and Miss Glazzard."

"Any one else?"

"Mr. Vialls."

"Then you don't catch me here! I have an appointment at eight."

"I insist upon your dining with us! If you are not at dinner, I will
have your allowance stopped! I mean what I say. Not one penny more
shall you receive until you have learnt to behave yourself!"

"We'll see about that," replied Raglan, with finished coolness; and,
folding his newspaper, he walked off.

Nor did the hour of dinner see his return. The expected guests arrived;
it was not strictly a dinner-party, but, as Mr. Mumbray described it,
"a quiet evening _ong fammil_." The Rev. Scatchard Vialls came in at
the last moment with perspiring brow, excusing himself on the ground of
professional duties. He was thin, yet flabby, had a stoop in the
shoulders, and walked without noticeably bending his knees. The crown
of his head went to a peak; he had eyes like a ferret's; his speech was
in a high, nasal note. For some years he had been a widower, a fact
which perhaps accounted for his insinuating manner when he approached
Miss Mumbray.

The dinner was portentously dull. Ivy Glazzard scarcely uttered a
syllable. Her uncle exerted himself to shape phrases of perfect
inoffensiveness, addressing now his