To celebrate Mrs Ffolliot's return, it was decided to give a dinner-party. Dinner-parties were rare occurrences at the Manor. The Squire allowed about two a year, and grumbled a good deal over each. If he would have left the whole thing to Mrs Ffolliot, she and everyone else would have enjoyed it; but he would interfere. Above all, he insisted on supervising the list of guests, and settling who was to go in with whom. This time they were to number fourteen in all, and as Grantly and Mary were to be of the party, that left ten people to be discussed. It was arranged with comparative ease till about a week before the day fixed the bachelor intended for Mary broke his leg out hunting. Mary had been allowed a new dress for the occasion; it would be the first time she had been at a real party in her father's house, and to be left out would have been a cruel disappointment. Bachelors in that neighbourhood, even elderly bachelors, who came up to the standard required by Mr Ffolliot were few, and there was comparatively little time. The four elder children, their father, and mother were sitting at lunch; they had reached the cheese stage. Fusby and his attendant maid had departed, and the question of a "man for Mary" occupied the attention of the family. When Mrs Ffolliot quite innocently discharged a bomb into their midst by exclaiming, "I've got it. Let's ask Mr Gallup. He's our member; he was very kind in coming to tell me about poor Buz's accident, very kind to him, too, I remember. It would be a friendly thing to do. The Campions are coming, they'd be pleased." Had Mrs Ffolliot not been gazing straight at her husband, she might have noticed that three pairs of startled eyes looked up at the same moment, and then were bent sedulously on the table. Uz alone curiously regarded his brethren. Mr Ffolliot paused in the very act of pouring himself out another glass of marsala and set the decanter on the table with a thump, the glass only half-full. "Impossible," he said coldly, "absolutely out of the question." "But why?" Mrs Ffolliot asked; "there's nothing against the young man, and it would be a friendly thing to do." "That's why I won't have it done," Mr Ffolliot said decidedly. "It would give a false impression. He might be disposed to take liberties." "Oh no, Larrie; why should you think anything of that sort? It seems to me such a pity people in the county shouldn't be friendly. The Campions speak most highly of him." "My dear"--Mr Ffolliot spoke with evident self-restraint--"I do not care to ask my friends to meet Mr Gallup as an equal. How could you ask any lady of your own rank to go in to dinner with him? The thing is outrageous." "I was going to send him in with Mary," Mrs Ffolliot said innocently. "We must get somebody, and I know he's in the neighbourhood, for I saw him to-day."