" cried every one; and amid the general
felicitation that ensued the successful proverb-guessers were made room
for in the magic circle, and Horace had a chance of exchanging "How d'ye
do?" with Mr Booms.

"Who'd have thought of meeting you here?" said he, in a whisper.

"I didn't expect to meet you," said the melancholy one. "I say, Cruden,
please don't mention--_her_."

"Her? Whom?" said Horace, bewildered.

Booms's reply was a mournful inclination of the head in the direction of
Miss Crisp.

"Oh, I see. All right, old man. You're a lucky fellow, I think. She
looks a jolly sort of girl."

"Lucky! Jolly! Oh, Cruden," ejaculated his depressed friend.

"Why, what's wrong?" said Horace. "Don't you think she's nice?"

"She is; but Shuckleford, Cruden, is not."

"Hullo, you two," said the voice of the gentleman in question at this
moment; "you seem jolly thick. Oh, of course, shopmates; I forgot; both
in the news line. Eh? Now, who's for musical chairs? Don't all speak
at once."

"I shall have to play the piano now, Mr Reginald," said Miss Jemima,
making a last effort to get a word out of her silent companion. "I'm
afraid you're not enjoying yourself a bit."

Reginald rose instinctively as she did, and offered her his arm. He was
half dreaming as he did so, and fancying himself back at Garden Vale.
It was to his credit that when he discovered what he was doing he did
not withdraw his arm, but conducted his partner gallantly to the piano,
and said,--

"I'm afraid I'm a bad hand at games."

"Musical chairs is great fun," said Miss Jemima. "I wish I could play
it and the piano both. You have to run round and round, and then, when
the music stops, you flop down on the nearest chair, and there's always
one left out, and the last one wins the game. Do try it."

Reginald gave a scared glance at the chairs being arranged back to back
in a long line down the room, and said,--

"May I play the piano instead? and then you can join in the game."

"What! do _you_ play the piano?" exclaimed the young lady, forgetting
her dignity and clapping her hands. "Oh, my eye, what a novelty! Ma,
Mr Reginald's going to play for musical chairs! Sam, do you hear? Mr
Cruden plays the piano! Isn't it fun?"

Reginald flung himself with a sigh down on the cracked music-stool.
Music was his one passion, and the last few months had been bitter to
him for want of it. He would go out of his way even to hear a street