at
fact would be pretty constantly recalled to my memory."

CHAPTER III.

THE COMMONSTONE BALL.

The same evening that all this discussion--one might almost say
plotting and counter-plotting--concerning the Commonstone ball was
going on at the Grange, there was a conversation going on at Todborough
Rectory, which, could she but have heard it, would have somewhat opened
Lady Mary's eyes to the conspiracy of which she had been the victim.

"I wonder," exclaimed Laura Chipchase, "whether Jim has carried his
point? He vowed to-day the Grange party should go to the ball, and I
hope they may."

"Yes," said Miss Sylla, "it is always nicer, I think, to be one of a
large party in an affair of this sort. You are quite independent
then,--a ball within a ball, as it were."

"Just so," said the younger sister. "And though we know plenty of
people, and are not likely to want for partners, yet it's not the fun
of going a big party. As for you, Sylla, I can't imagine your wanting
partners anywhere." And the girl gazed with undisguised admiration at
her pretty cousin.

"The young men are mostly good to me," replied Miss Sylla demurely.
"But what made Lady Mary set her face so dead against this ball? You
told me she was full of fun, and either assisted at or promoted all the
gaiety in the neighbourhood."

"Ah, I cannot understand that," rejoined Laura. "The excuse about
Blanche requiring rest is all nonsense. Why, she told me to-day, she
was never better, and, as you yourself heard, said she should like to
go to this ball immensely."

"Ah, well," said Sylla, with a shrug of her shoulders and a slight
elevation of her expressive eyebrows, "I don't think I care much about
your Lady Mary; your word-painting has been a little too flattering."

"You mustn't condemn her just because she has got this whim in her
head. We know her well, and like her very much. We have been brought
up so much with her own children, you know. But you never told us you
knew Mr. Cottrell."

"Why should I?" rejoined Sylla. "I hadn't the slightest idea he was in
these parts until I saw him. He is a dear clever old gentleman" (if
Pansey could but have heard that!), "and one of my most devoted
admirers. I met him at the Hogdens' last autumn. It amused me so much
to see how he always got his own way about everything, that I struck up
a desperate flirtation with him, and then, you see, I got mine. Oh,
you needn't look shocked. It's gr