"It's the prettiest name in the Bible, and the name most fit for poetic use. Who does not remember Rachel weeping for her children?" "That's the idea, and not the name. Ruth is twice prettier, and Mary the sweetest of all." "I never knew anybody before called Rachel," said he. "And I never knew anybody called Luke." "That's a coincidence, is it not?--a coincidence that ought to make us friends. I may call you Rachel then?" "Oh, no; please don't. What would people think?" "Perhaps they would think the truth," said he. "Perhaps they would imagine that I called you so because I liked you. But perhaps they might think also that you let me do so because you liked me. People do make such mistakes." At this moment up came to them, with flushed face, Mr. Buckett. "I have been looking for you everywhere," said he to Rachel. "It's nearly over now." "I am so sorry," said Rachel, "but I quite forgot." "So I presume," said Mr. Buckett angrily, but at the same time he gave his arm to Rachel and led her away. The fag end of some waltz remained, and he might get a turn with her. People in his hearing had spoken of her as the belle of the room, and he did not like to lose his chance. "Oh, Mr. Rowan," said Rachel, looking back as she was being led away. "I must speak one word to Mr. Rowan." Then she separated herself, and returning a step or two almost whispered to her late partner--"You have put me down for ever so many dances. You must scratch out two or three of them." "Not one," said he. "An engagement is an engagement." "Oh, but I really can't." "Of course I cannot make you, but I will scratch out nothing,--and forget nothing." Then she rejoined Mr. Buckett, and was told by him that young Rowan was not liked in the brewery at all. "We think him conceited, you know. He pretends to know more than anybody else." CHAPTER VIII. AN ACCOUNT OF MRS. TAPPITT'S BALL--CONCLUDED.