pressed it in acquiescence, and the next day
departed for the residence of Mr. Crowdie.

Not being quite certain whether my uncle
had prepared the family for my visit, I thought
it expedient to give it the appearance of a
morning call, and accordingly, leaving my
luggage at the village inn, I strolled up to the
mansion. The whole family were in the garden,
and thither I proceeded.

The party assembled on the lawn was of
appalling dimensions. About eighteen young
ladies and one young man were engaged at
croquet; while Mr. and Mrs. Crowdie, with
Alice the deformed reclining on a chair couch,
looked on. Six of the players eliminated
themselves from the company, and came to greet
me.

"Now comes the question," thought I, " of
which of these fair-cheeked maidens have my
dangerous attractions and assiduous attentions
proved the bane?"

Miss Mattie, with the brown frank eyes, was
quicker than the rest, and gave me her hand.

"It isn't you" I thought, and dismissed her
gently back to her game.

Miss Crowdie followed, laughing gaily. She
had a wide but handsome mouth, and
pearl-white teeth.

"Nor you" I thought.

"Just in time, Mr. Purkiss," cried Miss
Laura Jane, shyly offering me a mallet.

"Doubtful—-ha!" was my reflection.

Miss Sophy gave me neither hand nor word,
but just lifted eyes of the colour of a forget-me-not,
and dropped them again, while a slight but
rich blush passed over her smooth cheek.

"Aha I" I whispered to myself.

Mr. and Mrs. Crowdie now joined the group.
The lady was quiet and reserved, and wore a
sort of astonished look, which was said to have
been not always habitual with her, but had
increased with the advent of each successive
daughter, until the birth of Laura Jane placed
her in a condition of permanent amazement, to
which no language was apparently adequate; for
she never spoke, except in answer, or in faint
disclaimer of the replies and observations
perpetually attributed to her by her facetious
husband. The latter was a bluff, plain-spoken
man, so plain, indeed, that to mistake him for
vulgar would have been a pardonable error,
had he not prided himself upon that very bluffness,
esteeming it an essential characteristic of
the good old country squire.

"Ha, ha, ha!" was his greeting, with a poke
in the ribs, which I cleverly dodged. " Here
you find us at our daily sports, and precious
finikin stuff it is. No bowls, or leap-frog, or
single-stick now. Croquet, sir, croquet is the
game. It's imbecile in principle, and absurd in
practice. It tends, I am told, to softening of
the brain, but, by a wise provision of nature,
those most devoted to the game appear to be
endowed with a less proportion of the organ."

"What I see before me somewhat contradicts
your theory, sir," I said.

"Oh, my daughters are no fools. I don't
mean that. They play because they have good
ankles. Mrs. Crowdie often tells me she never
saw a string of wenches with cleaner pasterns."

"Oh, Philip!" said Mrs. Crowdie, "how can
you?"

"And how is my good old friend, hey?" continued
Mr. Crowdie, putting his hands behind
him, and looking as burly as he possibly could.
"Not married yet? Faith, I expect to hear
it every day. As Mrs. Crowdie observed to
me, he's just the jolly old boy to do it!"

"Oh, Philip, really——" protested Mrs.
Crowdie.

"Come, Dick the younger, if I may call you
so, for hang me if your uncle doesn't look as
young as you, go and take a club or mallet, or
whatever they call it, with those impatient
hussies, and, when you want to be refreshed
with rational conversation, come back, as my
wife always says, to us."

"Oh, Philip!"

"Stop one moment. Here's a girl of mine
you have hardly ever seen. Mr. Purkiss, my
darling," he added, tenderly leaning over her.

Alice raised herself a little, and smiled. Such
a smile—-soft, bright, saint-like—-as if rather
yielding than seeking pity. I bowed, mechanically,
lower than my wont, and, next minute,
found myself absorbed in the imbecilities of
croquet.

The game, as it chanced, came to a premature
end—-if, to such a sport, such an end be possible
—-those ladies not belonging to the house
having to seek their respective homes. The
rest dispersing in different directions, it so
happened that I was left alone with the pretty
Sophy. I was really astonished at this girl's
beauty. Why had I never noticed it before?
Her sweet yet timid manner perfectly captivated
me. I was angry when the dressing-bell
announced that we must part.

To my great surprise, I found a room prepared
for me, and my portmanteau—-surreptitiously
sent for from the inn—-unpacked. This
was a good sign. I hurried my dressing, thinking
all the time of Sophy's eyes. A change was
coming over me. I had always abhorred the
thought of marriage. Now the prospect gave
me a thrill of delight.

"Sir Hugh," said my host to the dull young
man, who had been playing croquet all day, and
looked as if he had done nothing else all his life,
"take Miss Crowdie. Richard, bring Sophy.
My wife and I always trudge in together, like
Punch and Judy."

(There was a tradition in the family that
by this, his favourite expression, Mr. Crowdie
meant Darby and Joan.)

I saw more of Sophy's long lashes that day
than of my own plate. To my great surprise,
I was actually falling in love with the girl, and
that at express speed. Dinner passed away like
a dream, and the chair beside me was vacant.
The cheery voice of my host aroused me:

"Come up here, my dear fellow. Hugh—-
Sir Hugh Sagramore—-had to leave us, as they
have a party at home."