"Lucy, you will come with me to the opening service?"

Lady Andinnian shook her head. "I think not, Theresa."

"Why, it would be quite a distraction for you," urged Miss Blake, using the word in the French sense.

Sir Karl had been in London some three or four days now; and Lucy, all aweary without him, was longing and looking for his return every hour of the live-long summer\'s day. But she was proof against this offered temptation.

"I don\'t think Karl would like me to go to St. Jerome\'s, Theresa. Thank you all the same."

"Do you mean to make Sir Karl your guide and model through life, Lucy?"--and Lady Andinnian, sincere and simple herself, detected not the covert sarcasm.

"I hope I shall never do, or wish to do anything that he would object to," was her answer, a sweet blush dyeing her cheeks.

"Well, if you won\'t appear at church, will you attend the kettledrum afterwards, Lucy?"

"The kettledrum?" echoed Lucy. "What kettledrum?"

"We are going to hold one at Mrs. Jinks\'s--that is, in Mr. Cattacomb\'s rooms--for the purpose of introducing him to some of his friends, and to organize the parish work."

Lady Andinnian looked up in surprise. "The parish work? What can you be talking of, Theresa?"

"Oh, there will be district visiting, and that. It must all be arranged and organized."

"Will it not be interfering with Mr. Sumnor?" Lucy ventured to ask, after a pause of silence.

"Not at all," was the answer, given loftily. "Shall I come round this way and call for you as we return from the service?"

"Thank you, no, Theresa; I would rather not. I do not think I should myself much care for the kettledrum."

"Very well," coolly replied Miss Blake. "As you please, of course, Lady Andinnian."

The service at St. Jerome\'s was at length about to be inaugurated: for the Reverend Guy Cattacomb had duly appeared after a few days\' delay, for which he satisfactorily accounted. It was to be held in the afternoon, this afternoon, he having arrived in the morning; and Miss Blake, while talking to Lady Andinnian, was already dressed for it. She started forth alone: just as other eager young women, mostly young, some middle-aged, were starting for it, and flocking into St. Jerome\'s.

Much inward speculation had existed as to what the new parson would be like; and the ladies looked at him eagerly when he entered from the vestry to commence the service. They saw a tall young man in a narrow surplice, with a sheep-skin tippet worn hind before, and a cross at the back in the opening: spectacles; no hair on his face, and not over much on his head, a few tufts of it only standing up like young carrots; eyes very much turned up. Certainly, in regard to personal beauty, the new pastor could not boast great things; but he made up for it in zeal, and--if such a thing may be said of a clergyman--in vanity; for that he was upon remarkably good terms with himself and his looks, every tone and gesture betrayed. It was rather a novel service, but a very attractive one. Mr. Cattacomb had a good sonorous voice--though it was marred by an affected accent and a drawling kind of delivery that savoured of insincerity and was most objectionably out of place. Miss Jane St. Henry played the harmonium; the ladies sang: and their singing, so far as it went, was good, but men\'s voices were much wanted. There was a short sermon, very rapidly delivered, and not to be understood--quite after a new fashion of the day. During its progress, little Miss Etheridge happened to look round, and saw Mr. Moore, the surgeon, at the back of the room.

"If you\'ll believe me, old Moore\'s here!" she whispered to Mary St. Henry.

Yes, the surgeon was there. He had laughed a little over this curious new place that was being called a church, and said at home that day that he should look in and see what its services were to be like. He was more surprised than pleased. Just as Mr. Smith, the agent, asked, Is it Roman Catholic or Protestant? so did Mr. Moore mentally ask the question now. The place was pretty full. Some few people had come over from Basham to be present. Mr. Moore\'s eyes went ranging amid the chairs, scanning the congregation. His daughters were not there. They are too sensible, thought the doctor: though he did not give them credit for overmuch sense in general. The fact was, the Misses Moore had been afraid to come. Hearing their father say he should look in, they deemed it wise to keep away--and did so, to their own deep mortification and disappointment. Mr. Moore was an easy-tempered man, and an indulgent father; but if once in a way he did by chance issue an edict, they knew it might not be disobeyed--and had he seen them there with his own eyes, he might have prohibited their going for the future. So they allowed policy to prevail, and stayed at home.

What with the opening service, and what with the coming party at Mrs. Jinks\'s, Foxwood was that day stirred to its centre. The preparations for the kettledrum were on an exhaustive scale, the different ladies having vied with each other in sending in supplies. Butter, cream, delicate bread and cakes, jam, marmalade, choice fruit, biscuits, and other things too numerous to mention. Miss Blake had taken a huge packet of tea, and some beautiful flowers, the latter offering cajoled out of old Maclean, the head gardener at the Court.

The walk to St. Jerome\'s and back, together with the excitement of the new service, had made them thirsty, and it was universally agreed to take tea first, though only four o\'clock, and proceed to business afterwards. The table groaned under the weight of good things on it, and Miss Blake was president-in-chief. The room was too small for the company, who sat or stood as they could, elbowing each other, and making much of Mr. Cattacomb. Tongues were going fast, Mr. Cattacomb\'s amidst them, and Miss Blake was getting hot with the work of incessantly filling cups from the tea-pots, when a loud knock, announcing further visitors, shook the street door and Paradise Row.

"Who can it be? I\'m sure we have no room for more!"

Mrs. Jinks went to see. Throwing open the front door, there stood the Misses Moore. Though debarred of the opening service, they would not be done out of the kettledrum.

"Are they here yet, Mrs. Jinks?" cried the young ladies eagerly.

"Yes, they are here," replied the Widow Jinks, her cap (clean for the occasion, and no bonnet) trembling with suppressed wrath.

"Oh dear! Has tea begun?"

"Begun, Miss Jemima! it\'s to be hoped it\'s three-parts over. I\'ll tell you what it is, young ladies: when I agreed to let my parlours to the Reverend Cattakin, I didn\'t bargain to keep the whole parish in kettledrumming. Leastways, not to wait on \'em; and bile kettles for \'em, and toast muffins for \'em by the hour at a stretch. I thought what a nice quiet lodger I should have--a single man, and him a minister! Instead of which I might just as well keep an inn."

The young ladies walked on, wisely giving no answer, and entered the parlour. There they were presented to Mr. Cattacomb, and joined the tea-table.

Kettledrums, as we are all aware, cannot last for ever, and before six o\'clock Miss Blake was on her way back to Foxwood Court. The discussion as to district visiting and other matters was postponed to another day, Mr. Cattacomb pleading fatigue (and no wonder); and Miss Blake--who was in point of fact the prime mover and prop and stay of it all--inwardly thinking that a less crowded meeting would be more conducive to business. As she was nearing the gate at Foxwood Court, she met Mr. Smith sauntering along, apparently out for an airing.

"Good afternoon, madam!"

He would have passed with the words, but she stopped to talk with him. The truth was, Miss Blake had taken, she knew not why or wherefore, a liking for Mr. Smith. From the first moment she saw him he had possessed a kind of attraction for her. It must be said that she believed him to be a gentleman.

"You were not at the opening service at St. Jerome\'s this afternoon, Mr. Smith?" she said, half-reproachfully.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I thought I should be out of place there, as the congregation was comprised only of ladies," was his reply. "Happening to be walking that way, I saw lots of them go in."

"Foxwood cannot boast of gentlemen in the middle of the day; the few who reside here are off to Basham for their different occupations. But you are an idle man, Mr. Smith."

"I am not always idle, I assure you, Miss Blake. I have Sir Karl Andinnian\'s interests to look after."

"Oh, indeed! As a friend, I presume?"

"Just so."

"Well, you would not have been quite solitary if you had come into the church. Mr. Moore was there."

"Ay. He looked in for five minutes, and came out laughing. I don\'t know what amused him, unless it was to see the Misses Sumnor there."

"I think you must have been watching us all--all who went in, and all who came out," said Miss Blake. The agent smiled as he disclaimed the imputation: and with that they parted.

"Those flowers were so much admired and appreciated, Maclean," said Miss Blake to the gardener as she passed the lodge--where he sat at tea with his wife--the door open. "There are no such hothouse flowers anywhere as yours."

Maclean rose and thanked her for the compliment. She passed rapidly on, and entered the house by the window of the North room.

"I wonder where Lucy is?--Dressing, perhaps; or seated at the window looking out for her husband. Foolish child! Does he deserve that love?"

Treading softly on the carpeted staircase, her knock at Lady Andinnian\'s door and her entrance were simultaneous. Lucy, in her white morning dress with its blue ribbons, was standing up beside her husband. His arm was round her waist, her face lay upon his breast, his own bent down upon it.

It was an awkward moment for Miss Blake; she bit her lips as she stammered an apology. Lucy, blushing and laughing, drew away. Karl stood his ground, laughing too.

"I did not know you had returned, Sir Karl."

"I have just come; three minutes ago," he said, holding out his hand. "Lucy was telling me you had gone to a kettledrum, and I saucily assured her she must have dreamt it. Fancy kettledrums at Foxwood!"

They separated for the purpose of dressing, Miss Blake biting her lips still as she went to her room. The little matter had turned her hot and cold. Do as she would, she could not get rid entirely of her love for Karl Andinnian, in spite of the chronic resentment she indulged towards him.

"If this is jealousy," she murmured, sitting down to think, and undoing her veil with fingers that thrilled to their extreme ends, "I must indeed school myself. I thought I had learned to bear calmly."

At dinner Sir Karl seemed in better spirits than usual. He told them he had been to the Opera to hear the new singer, Ilma di Murska, in "Robert le Diable."

"Oh, Karl!--and not to have had me with you!" cried Lucy.

"I will take you up on purpose, Lucy. You must hear her. In the song \'Robert, toi que j\'aime\' she electrified us all. I never heard anything like it in my life. And she is most elegant on the stage. Her dresses are splendid."

"Was anyone there that you knew?"

"I hardly looked at the house at all. I was in the stalls. The Prince and Princess of Wales were in the royal box."

"I am sure, Karl, it is a wonder to hear that you went!"

"True, Lucy; but my evenings hung heavily on my hands. What with Plunkett and Plunkett and other business matters, the days were busy enough: I used to wish the evenings were. I felt very dull."

"Just as I have been feeling here, Karl, without you."

His answer to his wife was but a look; but Miss Blake wished she had not caught it. What had she done, that his love should have missed her to be lavished on this girl-child?

"Sir Karl," she cried somewhat abruptly, "who is Mr. Smith?"

"I don\'t know,"............