recklessly.
Polite and amiable in indiscriminate fashion, Hadria ignored the secret
jealousies and heart-burnings of the neighbourhood, only to recognise
and repent her mistakes when too late. To-day she was even more
unchastened than usual in her dealings with inflammable social material.

"Hadria!" cried Mrs. Fullerton, taking her aside, "How _could_ you ask
Cecilia Gordon to play with young McKenzie? You _know_ their families
are not on speaking terms!"

Everyone, except the culprit, had remarked the haughty manner in which
Cecilia wielded her racket, and the gloomy silence in which the set was
played.

Hadria, though not impenitent, laughed. "How does Miss Gordon manage to
be energetic and chilling at the same time!" she exclaimed.

The Gordons and the McKenzies, like hostile armies, looked on grimly.
Everyone felt awkward, and to feel awkward was nothing less than tragic,
in the eyes of the assembly.

"Oh, Hadria, how _could_ you?" cried Mrs. Gordon, coming up in her
elaborate toilette, which expressed almost as much of the character of
its wearer as was indicated by her thin, chattering tones, and
unreposeful manner. Her mode of dress was rich and florid--very obvious
in its effects, very _naif_. She was built on a large scale, and might
have been graceful, had not her mental constitution refused to permit,
or to inspire, that which physical construction seemed to intend. She
distributed smiles on all hands, of no particular meaning. Though still
a young woman, she looked worn and wearied. However, her _role_ was
cheerfulness, and she smiled on industriously.

"I am so sorry," said Hadria, "the quarrel went clean out of my head.
They are so well matched. But your sister-in-law will never forgive me."

"Oh, well, never mind, my dear; it is your way, I know. Only of course
it is awkward."

"What can be done? Shall I run in and separate them?"

"Oh, Hadria, you _are_ ridiculous!"

"I was not meant for society," she said, in a depressed tone.

"Oh, you will soon get into the way of it," cried Mrs. Gordon
encouragingly.

"I am afraid I shall."

Mrs. Gordon stared. "Mr. Temperley, I can never make out what Miss
Fullerton really means. Do see if you can."

"How could I expect to succeed where you have failed?"

"Oh, you men are so much cleverer than we poor women," cried the lady
archly. Temperley was obviously of the same opinion. But he found some
appropriate Chesterfieldian reply, while Hadria, to