"Well, I don't know. That depends. I expect you're going to shake us all up and teach us improvement." "Dear me, no! I come to you for instruction. I haven't an idea in the world." "Too much modesty is a dangerous thing. Nobody's modest in Polchester." "Then I shall be Polchester's first modest man. But I'm not modest. I simply speak the truth." Mrs. Combermere smiled grimly. "There, too, you will be the exception. We none of us speak the truth here." "Really, Mrs. Combermere, you're giving Polchester a dreadful character." He laughed, but did not take his eyes away from her. "I hope that you've been here so long that you've forgotten what the place is like. I believe in first impressions." "So do I," she said, very grimly indeed. "Well, in a year's time we shall see which of us is right. I'll be quite willing to admit defeat." "Oh, a year's time!" She laughed more pleasantly. "A great deal can happen in a year. You may be a bishop by then, Canon Ronder," "Ah, that would be more than I deserve," he answered quite gravely. The little duel was over. She turned around, introduced him to Miss Dobell and Puddifoot, both of whom, however, he had already met. He sat down, very happily, near the fire and listened to Miss Dobell's shrill proclamation of her adoration of Browning. Conversation became general, and was concerned first with the Jubilee and the preparations for it, afterwards with the state of South Africa, Lord Penrhyn's quarries, and bicycling. Every one had a good deal to say about this last topic, and the strange costumes which ladies, so the papers said, were wearing in Battersea Park when out on their morning ride. Miss Dobell said that "it was too disgraceful," to which Mrs. Combermere replied "Fudge! As though every one didn't know by this time that women had legs!" Everything, in fact, went very well, although Ellen Stiles observed to herself with a certain malicious pleasure that their hostess was not entirely at her ease, was "a little ruffled, about something." Soon two more visitors arrived--first Mr. Morris, then Mrs. Brandon. They came close upon one another's heels, and it was at once evident that they would, neither of them, alter very considerably the room's atmosphere. No one ever paid any attention to Mrs. Brandon in Polchester, and although Mr. Morris had been some time now in the town, he was so shy and retiring and quiet that no one was, as yet, very distinctly aware of him. Mrs. Combermere was occupied with her own thoughts and the others were talking very happily beside the fire, so it soon happened that Morris and Mrs. Brandon were sitting by themselves in the window.