rustic chairs, odd remnants of humanity, mainly oldish, gazed in ecstasy
at the picturesque ensemble. In the midst of the lawn was Mrs.
Prockter's famous weeping willow, on whose branches Chinese lanterns had
been hung by a reluctant gardener, who held to the proper gardener's
axiom that lawns are made to be seen and not hurt. The moon aided these
lanterns to the best of her power. Under the tree was a cane chair, and
on the cane chair sat an ageing man with a concertina between his hands.
He put his head on one side and played a few bars, and the couples posed
themselves expectantly.

"Hold on a bit!" the virtuoso called out. "It's a tidy bit draughty
here."

He put the concertina on his knees, fumbled in his tail-pocket, and drew
forth a tasselled Turkish cap, which majestically he assumed; the tassel
fell over his forehead. He owned several Turkish caps, and never went
abroad without one.

Then he struck up definitely, and Mrs. Prockter's party had resolved
itself, as parties often do, into a dance. In the blissful excitation
caused by the ancient and jiggy tunes which "Jimmy" played, the sad
episode of Helen Rathbone and Andrew Dean appeared to be forgotten.
Helen danced with every man except Andrew, and Andrew danced with every
woman except Helen. But Mrs. Prockter had not forgotten the episode; nor
had the Misses Webber. The reputation of Mrs. Prockter's entertainments
for utter correctness, and her own enormous reputation for fine tact,
were impaired, and Mrs. Prockter was determined that that which ought to
happen should happen.

She had a brief and exceedingly banal interview with Helen, and another