sed the book with a determined hand. "It is nearly
eleven o'clock. Do you realise how long you have kept Miss Charrington?
She has surely earned a rest. Do come and sit down, Miss Charrington;
your back must need support."

"Better come upstairs with me, Hope. I am just going," said Avice,
rising from the sofa and slipping her hand through her cousin's arm.
The singers, contrite at their own lack of consideration, busied
themselves putting away the music, and gathered into little groups round
the piano, so that Mr Merrilies and the two girls were alone in their
corner, and their conversation was not overheard. "I am afraid we have
been very selfish," he said, looking at Hope's tired face; "but the
music has been such a pleasure that we have gone on and on without
noticing the time, and Miss Charrington was too good-natured to remind
us that she was growing tired."

"Hope never thinks of herself," said Avice quietly; and the colour
flamed into Hope's white cheeks and her blue eyes brightened with
pleasure at this unexpected tribute. Avice--Avice the languid, the
undemonstrative--to praise her aloud, and in company! She was too much
taken aback to protest in the conventional way, but she noticed that Mr
Merrilies looked even more pleased than herself. He smiled at Avice
with a new interest in his eyes, and said quickly:

"In that case it is our duty to look after her. I should suggest fresh
air in the first place. How is it that she never joins us at our
out-of-door luncheons?"

"She stays at home to help mother; but she shall come to-morrow. I will
bring her," replied Avice in a voice that for once was not languid, but
quite brisk and decided. Wonders would never cease! Could it be that
friendship for a girl of her own age was about to rouse the listless
Avice to an active interest in the life which was going on around her!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A SHOOTING LUNCHEON.

It was with the exultation of a child on a holiday that Hope prepared to
start for the picnic lunch the next day. Hitherto she had watched the
departure of the other ladies with a spasm of not unnatural envy, but
now she was going herself. The day was bright and mild, and it was so
pleasant to drive in the open behind Pipeclay, the little white pony
which was Avice's special favourite. Truda had driven on ahead with the
luncheon-baskets, accompanied by a young married lady who was the latest
addition to the house-party, so the two cou