barking to the door. “Be quiet,” ordered the father, thinking of those in bed, and he followed the dog.
It was Leslie. He wanted Lettie to go home with him at once. This she refused to do, so he came indoors, and was persuaded to sit down at table. He swallowed a morsel of bread and cheese, and a cup of coffee, talking to Lettie of a garden party which was going to be arranged at Highclose for the following week.
“What is it for then?” interrupted Mr. Saxton.
“For?” echoed Leslie.
“Is it for the missionaries, or the unemployed, or something?” explained Mr. Saxton.
“It’s a garden-party, not a bazaar,” said Leslie.
“Oh—a private affair. I thought it would be some church matter of your mother’s. She’s very big at the church, isn’t she?”
“She is interested in the church—yes!” said Leslie, then proceeding to explain to Lettie that he was arranging a tennis tournament in which she was to take part. At this point he became aware that he was monopolising the conversation, and turned to George, just as the latter was taking a piece of cheese from his knife with his teeth, asking:
“Do you play tennis, Mr. Saxton?—I know Miss Saxton does not.”
“No,” said George, working the piece of cheese into his cheek. “I never learned any ladies’ accomplishments.”
Leslie turned to Emily, who had nervously been pushing two plates over a stain in the cloth, and who was very startled when she found herself addressed.
