Mrs. Pasmer thought she must have been keeping young Mavering waiting a long time for his answer. “Why, of course, Alice. But I really don't know what to do about the Saintsburys.” This was not in the least true, but it instantly seemed so to Mrs. Pasmer, as a plausible excuse will when we make it. “Why, I'll tell you what, Mrs. Pasmer,” said young Mavering, with a cordial unsuspicion that both won and reassured her, “we'll be sure to find them at some of the spreads. Let me be of that much use, anyway; you must.” “We really oughtn't to let you,” said Mrs. Pasmer, making a last effort to cling to her reluctance, but feeling it fail, with a sensation that was not disagreeable. She could not help being pleased with the pleasure that she saw in her daughter's face. Young Mavering's was radiant. “I'll be back in just half a minute,” he said, and he took a gay leave of them in running to speak to another student at the opposite end of the hall. III. “You must allow me to get you something to eat first, Mrs. Pasmer,” said the elder Mavering. “Oh no, thank you,” Mrs. Pasmer began. But she changed her mind and said, “Or, yes; I will, Mr. Mavering: a very little salad, please.” She had really forgotten her hunger, as a woman will in the presence of any social interest; but she suddenly thought his going would give her a chance for two words with her daughter, and so she sent him. As he creaked heavily across the smooth floor of the nave; “Alice,” she whispered, “I don't know exactly what I've done: Who introduced this young Mr. Mavering to you?” “Mr. Munt.” “Mr. Munt!” “Yes; he came for me; he said you sent him. He introduced Mr. Mavering, and he was very polite. Mr. Mavering said we ought to go up into the gallery and see how it looked; and Mr. Munt said he'd been up, and Mr. Mavering promised to bring me back to him, but he was not there when we got back. Mr. Mavering got me some ice cream first, and then he found you for me.” “Really,” said Mrs. Pasmer to herself, “the combat thickens!” To her daughter she said, “He's very handsome.” “He laughs too much,” said the daughter. Her mother recognised her uncandour with a glance. “But he waltzes well,” added the girl. “Waltzes?” echoed the mother. “Did you waltz with him, Alice?” “Everybody else was dancing. He asked me for a turn or two, and of course I did it. What difference?” “Oh, none--none. Only--I didn't see you.” “Perhaps you weren't looking.” “Yes, I was looking all the time.” “What do you mean, mamma?” “Well,” said Mrs. Pasmer, in a final despair, “we don't know anything about them.” “We're the only people here who don't, then,” said her daughter. “The ladies were bowing right left to him all the time, and he kept asking if I knew this one and that one, and all I could say was that some of them were distant cousins, but I wasn't acquainted with them. I would think he'd wonder who we were.” “Yes,” said the mother thoughtfully.