“Ah, you have such a sensitive heart, dear Mrs. Brand,” said Mrs. Jinxson. “I should not wonder you helped her with most valuable suggestions. I think I trace your exquisite taste.” Florence smiled and did not reply. Conversation on the whole was not very brisk. Possibly there was too much shifting of plates and variety of flavours to admit of that. Lucy found herself seated between her tall escort and a stout man with a closely shaven head. The former, finding it hard to discover any subject on which Lucy was readily responsive, devoted himself chiefly to Florence at the head of the table. His remarks concerned bags of game, a county hunt and a forthcoming military ball. Lucy’s other neighbour, whose name she had never caught, made a polite effort to include her in a conversation going on between himself and Mr. Brand. It consisted of mutual congratulations as to the magnificent prospects of a certain “company,” laudation of a man whom Lucy believed to be a most dangerous enemy to British freedom and honour, and scornful denunciations of another whom she regarded as their faithful champion. Lucy could not attempt expostulation or argument under such circumstances, but she was thankful that her silences were soon sufficiently understood to check any further appeals for her sympathy and concurrence. These were readily tendered by Mrs. Jinxson, who indeed went beyond the gentleman in her derogation of the statesman whose influence they deprecated. When dessert made its appearance, little Muriel and Sybil came upon the scene. The one was a trifle older than Lucy’s Hugh, the other as much younger. They were artistically dressed, with fair hair floating over their shoulders. “Just like little pictures!” cried Mrs. Jinxson ecstatically. Lucy’s Highland escort began to pay court to Sybil as she stood between him and her mother. He heard her whispered appeal for a pear which lay in a dish immediately on his right hand. “Yes, little lady, you shall have it at once,” he said, “but you must pay me for it. Do you think you will be able to afford one little kiss?” The child looked up at him with her hard blue eyes. “Give me the pear,” she said. “Certainly; I will trust my payment to my little lady’s honour,” said the gentleman. Sybil snatched the pear from his hand. “I will kiss oo when oo washes oor face,” she said rudely in a sharp childish treble. The other guests laughed. The Highlander coloured beneath his swarthy complexion. Muriel had worked her way round to her Aunt Lucy. “Why are you dressed in black?” she whispered. “The governess always wears black; but that’s because she’s only the governess. But then you’re only a governess too, aren’t you? Nurse said so.” “I think the lady opposite us wishes to speak to you,” Lucy said, disregarding her niece’s remarks, and noting that the elderly dame at the other side of the table was making enticing gesticulations.