r than on this occasion.

Though there were, at most, not above five couples of dancers, and
though they who did not dance, such as the squire and Mr Boyce, and
a curate from a neighbouring parish, had, in fact, nothing to amuse
them, the affair was kept on very merrily for a considerable number
of hours. Exactly at twelve o'clock there was a little supper, which,
no doubt, served to relieve Mrs Hearn's _ennui_, and at which Mrs
Boyce also seemed to enjoy herself. As to the Mrs Boyces on such
occasions, I profess that I feel no pity. They are generally happy in
their children's happiness, or if not, they ought to be. At any rate,
they are simply performing a manifest duty, which duty, in their
time, was performed on their behalf. But on what account do the Mrs
Hearns betake themselves to such gatherings? Why did that ancient
lady sit there hour after hour yawning, longing for her bed, looking
every ten minutes at her watch, while her old bones were stiff and
sore, and her old ears pained with the noise? It could hardly have
been simply for the sake of the supper. After the supper, however,
her maid took her across to her cottage, and Mrs Boyce also then
stole away home, and the squire went off with some little parade,
suggesting to the young men that they should make no noise in the
house as they returned. But the poor curate remained, talking a dull
word every now and then to Mrs Dale, and looking on with tantalised
eyes at the joys which the world had prepared for others than him. I
must say that I think that public opinion and the bishops together
are too hard upon curates in this particular.

In the latter part of the night's delight, when time and practice had
made them all happy together, John Eames stood up for the first time
to dance with Lily. She had done all she could, short of asking him,
to induce him to do her this favour; for she felt that it would be a
favour. How great had been the desire on his part to ask her, and, at
the same time, how great the repugnance, Lily, perhaps, did not quite
understand. And yet she understood much of it. She knew that he was
not angry with her. She knew that he was suffering from the injured
pride of futile love, almost as much as from the futile love itself.
She wished to put him at his ease in this; but she did not quite give
him credit for the full sincerity, and the upright, uncontrolled
heartiness of his feelings.

At length he did come up to her, and though, in tr