“Hit!” said Perkins, contemptuously; “no, nor we shouldn't have been if we had stopped there all night. Not as long as we could have kept them at arm's length. The worst of that sort of row is, that the fellows who are behind always want to get close, and they push the chaps in front on so that at last one gets jammed up into a heap, and can't use one's arms. No, I think we just stopped long enough. The leg of a table is a nasty sort of thing to come down on your guard. Now then, sir, what's your liquor?” CHAPTER III. A SLAP IN THE FACE. FRANK MAYNARD'S departure for the country had been a relief both to Captain Bradshaw and Alice, and when he returned they were able to start anew upon something like their old footing. He was not at the house, however, as much as he had before been, for the London season was now beginning in earnest, and he was out nearly every night. Captain Bradshaw and Alice too were a good deal out, for although the old man would have greatly preferred to remain quietly at home, yet for Alice's sake he went into society, and when there enjoyed it perhaps more than she did. He would have a quiet rubber for a while, and would then go into the dancing room and look on with pleasure at the admiration which Alice attracted. And, indeed, Alice had many admirers, for she was a strikingly elegant girl, and an heiress, and not a few of the government clerks, who form so large a proportion of the dancing men of London, would have willingly enough exchanged their arduous duties of copying and endorsing letters, for the charge of Alice Heathcote and her fortune. But Alice gave but slight encouragement to any of them. She was one of those girls with whom a partner very soon gets upon pleasant terms. She was perfectly natural, straightforward, and unaffected; sensible herself, and expecting some amount of sense from others, the sort of girl with whom a flirtation is next to impossible. Nor upon those evenings, when they had no engagements, were Captain Bradshaw and Alice often alone; for in proportion as the visits of Frank had decreased in frequency during the last three months, those of Fred Bingham had increased. Very pleasant did he make himself upon these evenings; full of amusing anecdotes, and rattling on with a constant stream of fun and nonsense, he aroused Alice, and kept Captain Bradshaw in a state of good temper. Indeed Alice felt really grateful to Fred Bingham, for she rather dreaded these evenings alone with her uncle. He amused and interested her too with his talk, for Fred was undoubtedly clever; and yet, she could hardly explain to herself why, she did not like him. It was partly an old standing feeling. From the day when he had first come to the house, a lad of sixteen, she, a child of twelve, had felt a sort of jealousy of him for her playfellow Frank's sake, which Frank had never felt for his own. Either from some passing remark she had heard from a servant,