No one in Slowbridge was in more brilliant spirits than Octavia herself on the morning of the _fête_. Before breakfast Miss Belinda was startled by the arrival of another telegram, which ran as follows:-- "Arrived to-day, per 'Russia.' Be with you tomorrow evening. Friend with me. "MARTIN BASSETT." On reading this communication, Miss Belinda burst into floods of delighted tears. "Dear, dear Martin," she wept; "to think that we should meet again! _Why_ didn't he let us know he was on the way? I should have been so anxious that I should not have slept at all." "Well," remarked Octavia, "I suppose that would have been an advantage." Suddenly she approached Miss Belinda, kissed her, and disappeared out of the room as if by magic, not returning for a quarter of an hour, looking rather soft and moist and brilliant about the eyes when she did return. Octavia was a marked figure upon the grounds at that garden-party. "Another dress, my dear," remarked Mrs. Burnham. "And what a charming color she has, I declare! She is usually paler. Perhaps we owe this to Lord Lansdowne." "Her dress is becoming, at all events," privately remarked Miss Lydia Burnham, whose tastes had not been consulted about her own. "It is she who is becoming," said her sister: "it is not the dress so much, though her clothes always have a _look_, some way. She's prettier than ever to-day, and is enjoying herself." She was enjoying herself. Mr. Francis Barold observed it rather gloomily as he stood apart. She was enjoying herself so much, that she did not seem to notice that he had avoided her, instead of going up to claim her attention. Half a dozen men were standing about her, and making themselves agreeable; and she was apparently quite equal to the emergencies of the occasion. The young men from Broadoaks had at once attached themselves to her train. "I say, Barold," they had said to him, "why didn't you tell us about this? Jolly good fellow you are, to come mooning here for a couple of months, and keep it all to yourself." And then had come Lord Lansdowne, who, in crossing the lawn to shake hands with his host, had been observed to keep his eye fixed upon one particular point. "Burmistone," he said, after having spoken his first words, "who is that tall girl in white?" And in ten minutes Lady Theobald, Mrs. Burnham, Mr. Barold, and divers others too numerous to mention, saw him standing at Octavia's side, evidently with no intention of leaving it. Not long after this Francis Barold found his way to Miss Belinda, who was very busy and rather nervous. "Your niece is evidently enjoying herself," he remarked. "Octavia is most happy to-day," answered Miss Belinda. "Her father will reach Slowbridge this evening. She has been looking forward to his coming with great anxiety." "Ah!" commented Barold.