Miss Limpenny groaned. "To meet an Honourable, Lavinia!" The leaven was working. However, on the following Monday everybody was assembled in the little drawing-room. The Vicar was there in evening dress; the doctor and his wife; Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson in the crimson gown; the Saunders boys in carpet slippers (at sight of which Miss Limpenny went hot and cold by turns); the Misses Buzza in book-muslin, with ultramarine sashes and bronze shoes laced sandal-wise; their mother in green satin and deadly terror lest the Admiral's voice should penetrate the party-wall. Mr. Moggridge was frowning gloomily in a corner at some humorous story of Sam Buzza's telling. In short, with the exception of their Admiral, all Trojan society had gathered to do honour to the new-comers. Miss Limpenny, nervously toying with her best brooch, rose in a flutter as the door opened and admitted them. "So afraid we are late! but the clocks at 'The Bower' have not yet recovered from their journey." Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys gazed calmly about her. There was a rustle throughout the room; two pink spots appeared on Miss Limpenny's cheeks; she stumbled in her words of welcome. The Vicar frowned and looked puzzled. Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys wore a low-necked gown! It was a shock; but it passed. She was wonderfully pretty, all admitted, in her gown of a rich amber satin draped with delicate folds of black lace; around her white throat a diamond necklace glistened. How well I can remember her as she stood there toying with a button of her glove! And how mean and dowdy we all looked beside this glittering vision! The Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Goodwyn-Sandys meanwhile stared at us all calmly but firmly through his eye-glass. I saw young Horatio Saunders meet that gaze and sink into his carpet slippers. I saw Mr. Moggridge frown terribly, and cross his arms. Sam Buzza came forward-- "Ah, how d'ye do? How d'ye do, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys? Looking round for the governor? He's been in bed for a week." I think we all envied Samuel Buzza at this moment. "Ah, nothing serious, I hope?" drawled Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys. "Serious, ha, ha! Haven't you heard--" "Sam, dear!" expostulated Mrs. Buzza. "All right, mother. He can't hear," and Sam plunged into the story. The ice was broken. In a few moments a whist party was made up to include the Honourable Frederic, and Miss Limpenny breathed more freely. Mr. Moggridge was led up by Sam, and introduced. "Ah, indeed! Mr. Moggridge, I have been so longing to know you." Sam looked a trifle vexed. The poet simpered that he was happy. "Of course I have been reading 'Ivy Leaves.' So mournful I thought them, yet somehow so attractive. How _did_ you write it all?" Mr. Moggridge confessed amiably that he "didn't quite know." "Let me see; those lines beginning--" 'O give me wings to--to--' "I forget for the moment how it goes on." "'To fly away,'" suggested the bard.