e of kindness, knew her duties better, and busied herself with
the others, leaving those two to themselves.

'Well, now,' said the old sailor, briskly, 'what is our first dance to
be?'

'I beg your pardon, Sir George?' she said.

'Why, don't you know, girl, that you're coming to the ball?'

'What ball, Sir George?' said she, quite innocently.

What ball, indeed! And she had heard her sisters speak of nothing else
for a fortnight.

'Why, my ball; our ball, everybody's ball! Why, don't you know that
the world is going to stand still on Thursday night--in amazement. And
if you didn't know, now you know; and that's the ball you're coming to,
as sure as my name is Jack Horner--now, now, I've set my mind on it----'

Nan was no longer a hypocrite. Her heart began to beat rapidly--not
with joy, but with fright.

'Oh, Sir George, I--I never was at a ball--I--I never go out--mamma
would never dream----'

He turned and sung across the room--

'Mother!'

The lady who was addressed in this homely fashion was herself far from
homely: she was a distinguished-looking woman, with pale, refined
features, and a singularly intelligent and sweet expression.

'Mother, this girl is coming to the ball on Thursday, whether she likes
it or not. I want a partner; I insist on having a partner. Get a card
and invite her--a card all to herself--her name in capital letters--the
honour of the company of the BEAUTIFUL WRETCH: will that do?'

Lady Stratherne said nothing at all, but regarded the other mother with
a sort of puzzled smile.

'Oh, Sir George!' Lady Beresford protested, 'it is impossible. Thank
you very much--but it is impossible----'

'Impossible!' he cried. 'We don't know what that is at the Admiralty.
The men who write in the newspapers expect us to be able to do
everything at a moment's notice; and of course they're right; and so of
course we can do it. And so can you; the end of the argument being
that Nan is coming to our ball on Thursday night, as I'm a living
Dutchman.'

But the matter was not so easily settled. There was a fierce fight.
It was ridiculous that a school-girl, who ought to be walking two and
two along the Marine Parade, should go to one of the big balls of the
London season. How could a ball-dress be got ready by Thursday night?
And so forth: and so forth. Sir George paid no attention to all this
firing of cotton pellets. She was coming to the ball on Thursday
night, he maintained with