waited upon both ladies.

"But it was you who gave me the idea of writing a novel round Mrs.
Minchin."

"I don't think I did. I am quite sure it was your own idea. But one book
at a time. Surely you will take a rest?"

"I shall correct this thing. It will depress me to the verge of suicide.
Then I shall fall to upon my _magnum opus_."

"You really think it will be that?"

"It should be mine. It isn't saying much; but I never had such a plot as
you have given me!"

Rachel shook her head in a last disclaimer as she moved away with the
Vicar of Marley.

"Oh, Mr. Langholm, do you write books?" asked the schoolgirl, with round
blue eyes.

"For my sins," he confessed. "But do you prefer an ice, or more
strawberries and cream?"

"Neither, thank you. I've been here before," the young girl said with a
jolly smile. "But I didn't know I should come back with an author!"

"Then we'll go out into the open air," the author said; and they
followed Rachel at but a few yards' distance.

It was a picturesque if an aimless pageant, the smart frocks sweeping
the smooth sward, the pretty parasols with the prettier faces
underneath, the well-set-up and well-dressed men, with the old gray
manor rising upon an eminence in the background, and a dazzling splash
of scarlet and of brass somewhere under the trees. The band was playing
selections from _The Geisha_ as Langholm emerged from the tea-tent in
Rachel's wake. Mrs. Venables was manoeuvring her two highly marriageable
girls in opposite quarters of the field, and had only her own
indefatigable generalship to thank for what it lost her upon this
occasion. Mr. Steel and Mrs. Woodgate apparently missed the same thing
through wandering idly in the direction of the band; but the tableau
might have been arranged for the express benefit of Charles Langholm and
the very young lady upon whom he was dancing laborious attendance.

Mrs. Uniacke had stepped apart from the tall old gentleman with the side
whiskers, to whom she had been talking for some time, and had
intercepted Rachel as she was passing on with Hugh Woodgate.

"Wait while I introduce you to my most distinguished guest, or rawther
him to you," whispered Mrs. Uniacke, with the Irish brogue which
rendered her slightest observation a delight to the appreciative. "Sir
Baldwin Gibson--Mrs. Steel."

Langholm and the little Miss Gibson were standing close behind, and the
trained eye of the habitual observer took in every detail o