d, without warning him, she sat down in the seat, and of course he
joined her, and she put her head close to his, evidently in a
confidential mood.

"Bless us!" he said to himself, apropos of himself and Mrs. Prockter,
glancing about for spies.

"It's horrid of me to make fun of poor dear Emanuel's singing," pursued
Mrs. Prockter. "But how did she take it? If I am not mistaken, she
winked."

"Her winked," said James; "yes, her winked."

"Then everything's all right."

"Missis," said he, "if you don't mind what ye're about, you'll have a
daughter-in-law afore you can say 'knife'!"

"Not Helen?"

"Ay, Helen."

"But, Mr. Ollerenshaw----"

Here happened an interruption--a servant with a tray of sustenance,
comprising more champagne. James, prudent, would have refused, but under
the hospitable urgency of Mrs. Prockter he compromised--and yielded.

"I'll join ye."

So she joined him. Then a string of young people passed the end of the
side-hall, and among them was Jos Swetnam, who capered up to the old
couple on her long legs.

"Oh, Mrs. Prockter," she cried, "what a pity we can't dance on the
lawn!"

"I wish you could, my dear," said Mrs. Prockter.

"And why can't ye?" demanded James.

"No music!" said Jos.

"You see," Mrs. Prockter explained, "the lawn is at the far end of the
garden, and it is impossible to hear the piano so far off. If it were
only a little piano we could move it about, but it's a grand piano."

In James's next speech was to be felt the influence of champagne. "Look
here," he said, "it's nobbut a step from here to the Green Man, is it?"

"The Green Man!" echoed Mrs. Prockter, not comprehending.

"Ay, the pub!"

"I believe there is an inn at the bend," said Mrs. Prockter; "but I
don't think I've ever noticed the sign."

"It's the Green Man," said James. "If you'll send some one round there,
and the respex of Mr. Ollerenshaw to Mr. Benskin--that's the
land-lord--and will he lend me the concertina as I sold him last
Martinmas?"

"Oh, Mr. Ollerenshaw!" shrieked Jos. "Can you play for dancing? How
perfectly lovely it would be!"

"I fancy as I can keep _your_ trotters moving, child," said he, gaily.

Upon this, two spinsters, the Misses Webber, wearing duplicates of one
anxious visage, supervened, and, with strange magic gestures, beckoned
Mrs. Prockter away. News of the episode between Andrew Dean and Helen
had at length reached them, and they had deemed it a sacred duty to
in