"I believe there is an inn at the bend," said Mrs. Prockter; "but I
don't think I've ever noticed the sign."

"It's the Green Man," said James. "If you'll send some one round there,
and the respex of Mr. Ollerenshaw to Mr. Benskin--that's the
land-lord--and will he lend me the concertina as I sold him last
Martinmas?"

"Oh, Mr. Ollerenshaw!" shrieked Jos. "Can you play for dancing? How
perfectly lovely it would be!"

"I fancy as I can keep _your_ trotters moving, child," said he, gaily.

Upon this, two spinsters, the Misses Webber, wearing duplicates of one
anxious visage, supervened, and, with strange magic gestures, beckoned
Mrs. Prockter away. News of the episode between Andrew Dean and Helen
had at length reached them, and they had deemed it a sacred duty to
inform the hostess of the sad event. They were of the species of woman
that spares neither herself nor others. Their fault was, that they were
too compassionate for this world. Promising to send the message to Mr.
Benskin, Mrs. Prockter vanished to her doom.

Within a quarter of an hour a fête unique in the annals of Hillport had
organised itself on the lawn in the dim, verdurous retreats behind Mrs.
Prockter's house. The lawn was large enough to be just too small for a
tennis-court. It was also of a pretty mid-Victorian irregularity as
regards shape, and guarded from the grim horizons of the Five Towns by a
ring of superb elms. A dozen couples, mainly youngish, promenaded upon
its impeccable surface in obvious expectation; while on the borders, in