ing on quite, _quite_ nicely."

"And what is this?"

Ogilvie motioned with his hand as he spoke in the direction of the
crowd of people, the marquee, and the band. The music of the band
seemed to get on his brain and hurt him.

"What is all this?" he repeated.

"My dear Phil, my dear unpractical husband, this is a bazaar! Have you
never heard of a bazaar before? A bazaar for the Cottage Hospital at
Watleigh, the Home for Incurables; such a useful charity, Phil, and so
much needed. The poor things are wanting funds dreadfully; they have
got into debt, and something must be done to relieve them Think of all
the dear little children in those wards, Phil; the Sisters have been
obliged to refuse several cases lately. It is most pathetic, isn't it?
Oh, by the way, Lord Grayleigh is here; you will be glad to see him?"

"Presently, not now. How did you say Sibyl was?"

"I told you a moment ago. You can go and see her when you have changed
your things. I wish you would go away at once to your room and get
into some other clothes. There are no end of people you ought to meet.
How strange you look, Phil."

"I want to know more of Sibyl." Here the husband caught the wife's
dainty wrist and drew her a little aside. "No matter about other
things at present," he said sternly. "How is Sibyl? Remember, I have
heard no particulars; I have heard nothing since I got your cable. How
is she? Is there much the matter?"

"Well, I really don't think there is, but perhaps Lady Helen will tell
you. Shall I send her to you? I really am so busy just now. You know I
am selling, myself, at the principal stall. Oh, do go into the house,
you naughty dear; do go to your own room and change your things! I
expected you early this morning, and Watson has put out some of your
wardrobe. Watson will attend on you if you will ring for him. You will
find there is a special dressing room for you on the first floor. Go,
dear, do."

But Ogilvie now hold both her hands. His own were not too clean; they
were soiled by the dust of his rapid journey. He gripped her wrists
tightly.

"_Where_ is the child?" he repeated again.

"Don't look at me like that, you quite frighten me. The child, she is
in her room; she is going on nicely."

"But is she injured? Can she walk?"

"What could you expect? She cannot walk yet, but she is getting better
gradually--at least, I think so."

"What you think is nothing, less than nothing. What do the doctors
say?"

As