Lewis soon sidled up to Sylvia, proud and delighted at her notice. But it was all the notice he had, except from Mr. Conyers, who patted him on the head, and a smile from Mrs. Blair. The clergyman had come in response to a personal note as well as a card from Skelton, and walked about sadly, thinking on the vast and sorrowful spectacle of human nature even in the presence of so much fleeting joy. He had not been in the house an hour, though, before he came up to say good-night. There was not only much card playing going on in the library, but considerable betting, which was the fashion in those days, and to that Conyers was unalterably opposed. “Mr. Skelton,” said he, coming up to him, “I must say good-night.” “Why so early?” asked Skelton graciously. “Since you have done me the honour of coming, why not do me the pleasure of staying?” “Because,” said Conyers, who spoke the truth in season and out of season, “it is against my conscience to stay where betting is going on. Forgive me, if I apparently commit a breach of hospitality, but consider, Mr. Skelton, you will one day be held accountable for the iniquity that is now taking place under your roof.” “I accept the responsibility,” answered Skelton, with unabated politeness, “and I regret your decision. You are always welcome at Deerchase, Mr. Conyers, and you have the most perfect liberty of expressing your opinions.” “Thank you,” replied poor Conyers, with tears in his eyes. “If everybody was as tolerant as you, my ministry would be easier than it is.” As Conyers went one way, Skelton went off another, thinking to himself, “Was ever a man so openly defied as I?” True it was he could be openly defied, and everybody had full liberty, until Skelton’s own orbit was crossed: then there was no liberty. Old Tom Shapleigh swung, like a pendulum, between cards and dancing. He danced with all the vigor of colonial days, and his small, high-bred feet, cased in white-silk stockings and low shoes, with silver buckles, twinkled like a ballet dancer’s as he cut the pigeon wing. Mrs. Blair, who danced sedately and gracefully, was his partner. Bob Skinny, his head thrown back and wearing an expression of ecstatic delight, watched the dancers from a corner, occasionally waving his “fluke” to mark the time. However, by some occult means he had become acquainted with the champagne punch, and when Skelton’s back was turned, Bob proceeded to cut the pigeon wing too, and to back-step and double-shuffle with the most surprising agility. In the midst of this performance, though, a hint of Skelton’s approach being given, Bob instantly assumed the most rigid and dignified pose imaginable.