THE HAUGHTYSHIRE HUNT. 91 



— fixed upon the door, awaiting the advent of their other 

 expected guest. 



" This is very kind of you, Mr. Yarboro, I'm sure, coming 

 to dine with us, just oitrj fainille." (Mrs. Binkie had got hold of 

 this — she wasn't quite sure whether it was French or German 

 — out of a novel she had been reading.) " "We've got another 



gent gentleman, I should say, coming, but that's all. I 



dessay now you know him? It's Mr. Eon ^" 



" Mr. Eonald Dennison," shouted the footman in vigorous 

 fashion, as he threw open the folding-doors, and the gentle- 

 man named, looking bigger, somehow, in evening dress than he 

 did in hunting, or in everyday kit, walked into the room. 



He shook hands with his hostess, then with Miss — a slight 

 pressure in the clasp which was almost imperceptible, except 

 to the close observer ; a rapid glance, downcast eyes, heightened 

 colour, all presenting a tell-tale picture just for the flash of a 

 moment. We know it, dear reader, don't we '? It is ' the story 

 that grows not old,' and yet the one whose first chapter was 

 written in the Garden of Eden. 



Dinner was announced, and Mr. Yarboro escorted his 

 hostess, while to the share of the lucky Eonald fell, of course, 

 Miss Penelope Binkie. Before the soup had been removed, 

 these two were on the very best of terms ; and such is the 

 forwardness of young man and womankind nowadays, that 

 they were already talking of where they were likely to meet 

 again by the time their attention was demanded through the 

 arrival of the turbot. 



Then Miss wanted to know whether Mr. Dennison was going 

 to the Hunt Ball. — Yes, he was, and she ? — Well, she didn't 

 quite know. The fact was, they knew nobody. — Oh, but 



