There had been a crowd of girls in the house when Miss Mackenzie had paid her former visit to the Cedars,—so many that she had carried away no remembrance of them as individuals. But at that time the eldest son, a youth now just of age, was not at home. This hope of the Balls, who was endeavouring to do at Oxford as his father had done, was now with his family, and came forward to meet his cousin as the old carriage was driven up to the door. Old Sir John stood within, in the hall, mindful of the window air, and Lady Ball, a little mindful of her dignity, remained at the drawing-room door. Even though Miss Mackenzie had eight hundred a-year, and was nearly related to the Incharrow family, a further advance than the drawing-room door would be inexpedient; for the lady, with all her virtues, was still sister to the man who dealt in retail oilcloth in the New Road!

Miss Mackenzie thought nothing of this, but was well contented to be received by her hostess in the drawing-room.

“It’s a dull house to come to, my dear,” said Lady Ball; “but blood is thicker than water, they say, and we thought that perhaps you might like to be with your cousins at Christmas.”

“I shall like it very much,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“I suppose you must find it rather sad, living alone at Littlebath, away from all your people?”

“I have my niece with me, you know.”

“A niece, have you? That’s one of the girls from Gower Street, I suppose? It’s very kind of you, and I dare say, very proper.”

“But Littlebath is a very gay place, I thought,” said John Ball, the third and youngest of the name. “We always hear of it at Oxford as being the most stunning place for parties anywhere near.”

“I suppose you play cards every night of your life,” said the baronet.

“No; I don’t play cards,” said Miss Mackenzie. “Many ladies do, but I’m not in that set.”

“What set are you in?” said Sir John.

“I don’t think I am in any set. I know Mr Stumfold, the clergyman there, and I go to his house sometimes.”

“Oh, ah; I see,” said Sir John. “I beg your pardon for mentioning cards. I shouldn’t have done it, if I had known that you were one of Mr Stumfold’s people.”

“I am not one of Mr Stumfold’s people especially,” she said, and then she went upstairs.

The other John Ball came back from London just in time for dinner—the middle one of the three, whom we will call Mr Ball. He greeted his cousin very kindly, and then said a word or two to his mother about shares. She answered him, assuming a look of interest in his tidings.

“I don’t understand it; upon my word, I don’t,” said he. “Some of them will burn their fingers before they’ve done. I don’t dare do it; I know that.”