“Why not?” echoed Mrs. Mayhew. “Well, for one thing----However, I’m not going to bandy words with you now--here are all these people coming from the house, and I must flee,” she added hastily, as she turned and hurried off among the trees in the hopes of making her escape unseen. She was quite correct--Alice was actually sallying forth, escorting two elderly ladies and a vapid-looking youth, with hay-coloured hair and an incipient ditto moustache. He wore an extraordinarily high collar, an eye-glass, and pale lavender gloves, and it was easy to see that he considered James Blundell, Esq., the very glass of fashion and the mould of form. He was sucking the knob of his cane with greedy relish, and casting every now and then glances of marked approbation on his pretty young hostess, as he stalked along beside her. “What in the world possessed Alice to bring them out here?” growled Mr. Mayhew irritably, as he looked over his shoulder and beheld the advancing squadron. “To allow us to share the pleasure of entertaining them, of course,” responded Miss Ferrars in her most affable manner. “Does the old lady with the parrot beak call that thing on her head a bonnet, or a bewitched bird’s-nest?” whispered Geoffrey, as she slowly and majestically approached the group under the trees--in fact, her mode of progression gave one the idea that she was on castors, and being pushed along over the turf like a heavy piece of furniture. Alice introduced Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Blundell to Miss Ferrars. “My cousins, Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Saville,” she said, indicating the two reclining gentlemen, who sprang up, bowed themselves, and again subsided. Mrs. Blundell and Mrs. Pritchard having executed leisurely and patronising bows all round, sank into two roomy garden-chairs, and permitted themselves to be refreshed with cups of tea. Sir Reginald, who had been collecting stray bats and balls, now joined the group, and doffing his hat politely to the new arrivals, made some trivial remark with respect to that fail-me-never topic, the weather. He seemed to take it for granted that they would recognise him as their host, and dispensed tea, claret-cup, and strawberries to the best of his ability. Geoffrey still remained prone on the grass, making no attempt to share his labours, and apparently spell-bound by Mrs. Blundell’s appearance. But Reginald’s efforts at hospitality were not favourably received by the two lady guests: their gaze was that of stony interrogation, their answers brevity itself. “_Who_,” they asked themselves, “was this handsome young fellow in the cricketing flannels and straw hat with a zingari ribbon, so suspiciously at his ease--so entirely at home? Had their ears deceived them, or had he called Lady Fairfax by her christian-name?” “No sugar, Alice--no sugar,” in an easy authoritative tone, that spoke whole volumes of the closest intimacy.