t this his first ball, and
the serious young man had the strange agreeable sensation of feeling a
dog. He dared not, however, accompany Ethel to the carriage, as Harry
Burgess accompanied Millicent. Harry had been partially restored to
favour again during the latter half of the entertainment, just in time
to prevent him from getting tipsy. The fact was that Millicent had
vaguely expected, in view of her position as prima donna, to be 'the
belle of the ball'; but there had been no belle, and Millicent was put
to the inconvenience of discovering that she could do nothing without
footlights.

'I asked Twemlow to come up to-morrow night, Nora,' said John, still
elated, turning on the box-seat as the waggonette rattled briskly over
the paved crossing at the top of Oldcastle Street.

She mumbled something through her furs.

'And is he coming?' asked Rose.

'He said he'd try to.' John lighted a cigar.

'He's very queer,' said Millicent.

'How?' Rose aggressively demanded.

'Well, imagine him going off like that. He's always going off suddenly.'
Millicent stopped and then added: 'He only danced with mother. But he's
a good dancer.'

'I should think he was!' Ethel murmured, roused from lethargy. 'Isn't he
just, mother?'

Leonora mumbled again.

'Your mother's knocked up,' said John drily. 'These late nights don't
suit her. So you reckon Mr. Twemlow's a good dancer, eh?'

No one spoke further. John threw his cigar into the road.

Under the rug Leonora could feel the knees of all her daughters as they
sat huddled and limp with fatigue in the small body of the waggonette.
Her shoulders touched Ethel's, and every one of Milly's fidgety
movements communicated itself to her. Mother and children were so close
that they could not have been closer had they lain in the same grave.
And yet the girls, and John too, had no slightest suspicion how far away
the mother was from them, how blind they were, how amazingly they had
been deceived. They deemed Leonora to be like themselves, the victim of
reaction and weariness; so drowsy that even the joltings of the carriage
could not prevent a doze. She marvelled, she could not help marvelling,
that her spiritual detachment should remain unnoticed; the phenomenon
frightened her as something full of strange risks. Was it possible that
none had caught a glimpse of the intense illumination and activity of
her brain, burning and labouring there so conspicuously amid the other
brains somb