as his duties were accomplished; and, in his absence, Mrs. Gibson kept herself a little aloof from the Miss Brownings and those of her acquaintance who would willingly have entered into conversation with her, with the view of attaching herself to the skirts of the Towers party, when they should make their appearance. If Cynthia would not be so very ready in engaging herself to every possible partner who asked her to dance, there were sure to be young men staying at the Towers who would be on the look- out for pretty girls; and who could tell to what a dance might lead? Molly, too, though not so good a dancer as Cynthia, and, from her timidity, less graceful and easy, was becoming engaged pretty deeply; and, it must be confessed, she was longing to dance every dance, no matter with whom. Even she might not be available for the more aristocratic partners Mrs. Gibson anticipated. She was feeling very much annoyed with the whole proceedings of the evening, when she was aware of some one standing by her; and, turning a little to one side, she saw Mr. Preston keeping guard, as it were, over the seats which Molly and Cynthia had just quitted. He was looking so black that, if their eyes had not met. Mrs. Gibson would have preferred not speaking to him; as it was, she thought it unavoidable.

“The rooms are not well lighted to-night; are they, Mr. Preston?”

“No,” said he; “but who could light such dingy old paint as this, loaded with evergreens, too, which always darken a room?”

“And the company, too! I always think that freshness and brilliancy of dress go as far as anything to brighten up a room. Look what a set of people are here: the greater part of the women are dressed in dark silks, really only fit for the morning. The place will be quite different by-and-by, when the county- families are in a little more force.”

Mr. Preston made no reply. He had put his glass in his eye, apparently for the purpose of watching the dancers. If its exact direction could have been ascertained, it would have been found that he was looking intently and angrily at a flying figure in pink muslin; many a one was gazing at Cynthia with intentness besides himself, but no one in anger. Mrs. Gibson was not so fine an observer as to read all this; but here was a gentlemanly and handsome young man, to whom she could prattle, instead of either joining herself on to objectionable people, or sitting all forlorn until the Towers party came. So she went on with her small remarks.

“You are not dancing, Mr. Preston!”

“No! The partner I had engaged has made some mistake. I am waiting to have an explanation with her.”

Mrs. Gibson was silent. An uncomfortable tide of recollections appeared to come over her; she, like Mr. Preston, watched Cynthia; the dance was ended, and she was walking round the room in easy unconcern as to what might await her. Presently, her partner, Mr. Harry Cholmley, brought her back to her seat. She took the one vacant next to Mr. Preston, leaving that by her mother for Molly’s occupation. The latter returned a moment afterwards to her place. Cynthia seemed entirely unconscious of Mr. Preston’s neighbourhood. Mrs. Gibson leaned forwards, and said to her daughter—

“Your last partner was a gentleman, my dear. You are improving in your selection. I really was ashamed of you before, figuring away with that attorney’s clerk. Molly, do you know whom you have been dancing with? I have found out he is the Coreham bookseller.”

“That accounts for his being so well-up in all the books I’ve been wanting to hear about,” said Molly eagerly, but with a spice of malice in her mind. “He really was very pleasant, mamma,” she added; “and he looks quite a gentleman, and dances beautifully.”

“Very well. But remember, if you go on in this way, you will have to shake hands over the counter to- morrow morning with some of your partners of to-night,” said Mrs. Gibson coldly.