you choose--Bingley, or Darcy,
or----'

'It would be fair to tell him,' said the other, her smile broadening
now, 'that it's only the elderly people and notables who have been
invited to dinner, the young folks are coming in after; so if you are
hungry----' Her soft voice paused, as if suspended in mid-air, allowing
him to draw the inference.

'It depends entirely on who you are, who I would like to be.' He did not
realise that there was undue gallantry in his speech; he felt exactly
like another child playing, loyally determined to be her mate, whatever
the character that might entail. 'I will even be the idiotic Edward if
you are Eleanor Dashwood.'

Her chin was raised just half-an-inch higher; the smile that had been
peeping from eyes and dimples seemed to retire for the moment.

'Oh, we,' she said, 'are the hostesses. My sister is Eliz King and I am
Madge King, and I think you had better be a real person too; just a Mr.
Courthope, come in by accident.'

'Well, then, he can help us in the receiving and chatting to them.' Eliz
was quite reconciled.

He felt glad to realise that his mistake had been merely playful. 'In
that case, may I have dinner without growing grey?' He asked it of
Madge, and her smile came back, so readily did she forget what she had
hardly consciously perceived.

When the sharp-voiced little Eliz had been wheeled into the dining-room
to superintend some preparations there before the meal was ready,
Courthope could again break through the spell that the imaginary
reception imposed. He came from his dressing-room to find Madge at the
housewifely act of replenishing the fire. Filled with curiosity,
unwilling to ask questions, he remarked that he feared she must often
feel lonely, that he supposed Mrs. King did not often make visits
unaccompanied by her daughters.

'She does not, worse luck!' Madge on her knees replied with childish
audacity.

'I hope when she returns she may not be offended by my intrusion.'

'Don't hope it,'--she smiled--'such hope would be vain.'

He could not help laughing.

'Is it dutiful then of you'--he paused--'or of me?'

'Which do you prefer--to sleep in the barn, or that I should be
undutiful and disobey my stepmother?'

In a minute she gave her chin that lift in the air that he had seen
before.

'You need not feel uncomfortable about Mrs. King; the house is really
mine, not hers, and father always had his house full of company. I am
doing my duty to h