maid; and thither the guests repaired on arrival, before being ushered into the drawing-room. They were some sixteen in number, the gentlemen being for the most part clergymen; while Mr. Drewitt, who with his wife was of the party, although only a solicitor, was almost more than clerical in manner, in virtue of transacting legal business for the dean and chapter; and Arthur could not but notice that the only ladies invited were married and middle-aged, with the single exception of Sophie Colson, who came with her mother and brother. There was no one, therefore, to act as a counter-attraction to the hostess, towards whom almost all the single men adopted a tone of gallantry which was evidenthy customary. Penelope and the suitors, thought Yorke, looking on grimly, except that there is no Ulysses, and that Penelope seems nothing loath to have them feasting in her house. The three bachelor clergymen were Mr. Rawlings, rector of a parish in the town, a big, middle-aged man, in a slipshod white necktie, with a loud voice, and free and easy manner; Mr. Chanter, the minor canon, who wore his hair parted down the middle, and although still young, was already inclined to obesity; and Mr. Tritton, a young curate, with light curly hair and a smooth boyish face. Mr. Rawlings shook hands familiarly with his hostess, much as if he had been the family lawyer, and knew a good deal to her disadvantage, and nodding to the company generally, sat down in an easy-chair, and crossing his legs and resting his elbows on the arms of it, looked about him with his mouth open and under jaw protruding, as if he held the company rather cheap. Mr. Chanter paid his greetings in a more respectful but still confidential manner. The light-haired curate took Mrs. Yorke's hand with a fervent manner, casting, as he did so, a deferential look in her face.
For three long hours the party lasted. First, there was general conversation about nothing in particular, although with occasional reference to India, in which, however, the company seemed generally to wait for Mr. Rawlings to take the lead, while that gentleman seemed disposed on this occasion to be silent. Then Mr. Chanter, who had a fine deep voice, sang. "O ruddier than the cherry!" Miss Colson accompanying him. Then there was more conversation, carried on apparently with the understanding that it should on no account bear on any topic in which anybody could by any possibility take any interest, everybody in short except Mr. Rawlings having put on company manners for the occasion; and then Mr. Chanter sang a duet with the young lady, and later a second solo. Whist was proposed; but as Mr. Rawlings, who was understood to be the great player, was not in the humour, the scheme fell through. That gentleman, indeed, seemed to be a good deal out of humour. To young Colson coming near his chair he vouchsafed the remark, "Well, Johnny, how are things getting on at the bank; what's the rate of discount?" On another occasion, when Mr. Chanter was singing, he beckoned to the young curate to come towards him, and on the latter meekly obeying, said in an audible voice, "What's that thing Chanter is making all that noise about ?" in a tone to imply that singing was an accomplishment quite beneath contempt.
"No wonder," thought Yorke, trying to suppress a yawn, while silence fell on the company," that Morgan backed out of this. He is a man of more sense than I supposed."
At last the waiter announced supper, and the party adjourned to the dining-room; but as they had all talked themselves out before sitting down, the meal although prolonged was not lively. But when eating had quite ended, and it seemed as if the party must at last break up, there was still a hesitation about rising, and whisperings went on at Mrs. Yorke's end of the table. Mr. Drewitt, who sat on her left, was urging Mr. Rawlings on her right to do something which the latter apparently was indisposed to undertake. "Not I," he could be heard to say gruffly; "tomfoolery of that sort is not in my line. Why don't you do it yourself?" "How can you say so?" remonstrated Mrs. Yorke, over whom this gentleman seemed to exercise a sort of fascination; "everybody knows what a public speaker you are." "Well, if it must be, there is no help for it," said Mr. Drewitt, rising nothing loath; and, calling on the company to fill their glasses, announced that with the permission of their fair hostess he would propose a toast. He need not say who was the subject of it. There was present on that occasion one who, after an absence of many years, and undergoing numerous perilous escapes in the imminent deadly breach, had returned to his native land, there to receive the honours gained by the deeds of heroism, the fame of which had preceded his advent. It would ill become him, Mr. Drewitt, as a man of peace, to endeavour to describe the actions to which he referred. He would merely venture
