e will join us before the evening party begins. The moment he
appears, send him in here--boldly before your aunt and all of us."

"For what?"

"For your fan. Leave it there under the sofa-cushion before we go down
to dinner. You will sit next to Launce, and you will give him private
instructions not to find the fan. You will get impatient--you will go to
find it yourself--and there you are. Take care of your shoulders, Mrs.
Linzie! I have nothing more to say."

The guests asked to dinner began to arrive. Lady Winwood was recalled to
her duties as mistress of the house.

It was a pleasant little dinner--with one drawback. It began too late.
The ladies only reached the small drawing-room at ten minutes to ten.
Launce was only able to join them as the clock struck.

"Too late!" whispered Natalie. "He will be here directly."

"Nobody comes punctually to an evening party," said Launce. "Don't let
us lose a moment. Send me for your fan."

Natalie opened her lips to say the necessary words. Before she could
speak, the servant announced--"Mr. Turlington."

He came in, with his stiffly-upright shirt collar and his
loosely-fitting glossy black clothes. He made his sullen and clumsy
bow to Lady Winwood. And then he did, what he had done dozens of times
already--he caught Natalie, with her eyes still bright and her face
still animated (after talking to Launce)--a striking contrast to the
cold and unimpulsive young lady whom he was accustomed to see while
Natalie was talking to _him_.

Lord Winwood's daughters were persons of some celebrity in the world of
amateur music. Noticing the look that Turlington cast at Launce, Lady
Winwood whispered to Miss Lavinia--who instantly asked the young ladies
to sing. Launce, in obedience to a sign from Natalie, volunteered to
find the music-books. It is needless to add that he pitched on the wrong
volume at starting. As he lifted it from the piano to take it back to
the stand, there dropped out from between the leaves a printed letter,
looking like a circular. One of the young ladies took it up, and ran her
eye over it, with a start.

"The Sacred Concerts!" she exclaimed.

Her two sisters, standing by, looked at each other guiltily: "What will
the Committee say to us? We entirely forgot the meeting last month."

"Is there a meeting this month?"

They all looked anxiously at the printed letter.

"Yes! The twenty-third of December. Put it down in your book, Amelia."
Amelia, then a