'Yes,' she whispered; 'that's Ernestine with the pile of handbills on her arm.' The lady sent out smiles and signals of welcome with a lifted hand. The busy propagandist took no notice. She was talking to her two companions, one of whom, the younger with head on one side, kept shooting out glances half provocative, half appealing, towards Lord Borrodaile and the young men. She seemed as keenly alive to the fact of these male presences as the two other women seemed oblivious. 'Which is the one,' asked Lord Borrodaile, 'that you were telling me about?' 'Why, Ernestine Blunt--the pink-cheeked one in the long alpaca coat.' 'She doesn't look so very devilish,' he laughed. After an impatient moment's hope that devilishness might develop, he said, 'She hasn't seen you yet.' 'Oh, yes, she has.' 'Then she isn't as overjoyed as she ought to be.' 'She'd be surprised to know she was expected to be overjoyed.' 'Why? Aren't you very good to her?' 'No. She's been rather good to me, though she doesn't take very much stock in me.' 'Why doesn't she?' 'Oh, there are only two kinds of people that interest Ernestine. Those who'll be active in carrying on the propaganda, and those who have yet to be converted.' 'Well, I'm disappointed,' he teased, perceiving how keen his friend was that he should not be. 'The other one would be more likely to convert _me_.' 'Oh, you only say that because the other one's tall, and makes eyes!' Vida denounced him, to his evident diversion. Whatever his reasons were, the young men seemed to share his preference. They were watching the languishing young woman, who in turn kept glancing at them. Ernestine, having finished what she was saying, made her way to where Miss Levering sat, not, it would appear, for any purpose so frivolous as saying good evening, but to deposit what were left of the handbills and the precious portfolio in the care of one well known by now to have a motherly oversight of such properties. Lord Borrodaile's eyes narrowed with amusement as he watched the hurried pantomime. Instead of 'Thank you,' as Vida meekly accepted the incongruous and by no means light burden: 'We are short of speakers,' said Ernestine. 'You'll help us out, won't you?' As though it were the simplest thing in the world. Lord Borrodaile half rose in protest. 'No,' said Vida. 'I won't speak till I have something to say.' 'I should have thought there was plenty to _say_!' said the girl. 'Yes, for you. You know such a lot,' smiled her new friend. 'I must get some first-hand knowledge, too, before I try to stand up and speechify.' 'It's now we need help. By-and-by there'll be plenty. But I'm not going to worry you,' she caught herself up. Then, confidentially, 'We've got one new helper that we've great hopes of. She joined to-day.' 'Some one who can speak?' 'Oh, she'll speak, I dare say, by and by.' 'What does she do in the meantime--to----' (to account for your enthusiasm, was implied) 'to show she's a helper? Subscribes?'