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They were to dance that night in the mess-room of the officers at Newcastle. This scheme had been added on as an adjunct to the picnic, and it therefore became necessary that the ladies should retire to their own or their friends’ houses at Newcastle to adjust their dresses. Marian Leslie and Julia Davis were there accommodated with the loan of a small room by the major’s wife, and as they were brushing their hair, and putting on their dancing-shoes, something was said between them about Maurice Cumming.

“And so you are to be Mrs. C. of Mount Pleasant,” said Julia. “Well; I didn’t think it would come to that at last.”

“But it has not come to that, and if it did why should I not be Mrs. C., as you call it?”

“The knight of the rueful countenance, I call him.”

“I tell you what then, he is an excellent young man, and the fact is you don’t know him.”

“I don’t like excellent young men with long faces. I suppose you won’t be let to dance quick dances at all now.”

“I shall dance whatever dances I like, as I have always done,” said Marian, with some little asperity in her tone.

“Not you; or if you do, you’ll lose your promotion. You’ll never live to be my Lady Rue. And what will Graham say? You know you’ve given him half a promise.”

“That’s not true, Julia;–I never gave him the tenth part of a promise.”

“Well, he says so;” and then the words between the young ladies became a little more angry. But, nevertheless, in due time they came forth with faces smiling as usual, with their hair brushed, and without any signs of warfare.

But Marian had to stand another attack before the business of the evening commenced, and this was from no less doughty an antagonist than her aunt, Miss Jack. Miss Jack soon found that Maurice had not kept his threat of going home; and though she did not absolutely learn from him that he had gone so far towards perfecting her dearest hopes as to make a formal offer to Marion, nevertheless she did gather that things were fast that way tending. If only this dancing were over! she said to herself, dreading the unnumbered waltzes with Ewing, and the violent polkas with Graham. So Miss Jack resolved to say one word to Marian–“A wise word in good season,” said Miss Jack to herself, “how sweet a thing it is.”

“Marian,” said she. “Step here a moment, I want to say a word to you.”

“Yes, aunt Sarah,” said Marian, following her aunt into a corner, not quite in the best humour in the world; for she had a dread of some further interference.

“Are you going to dance with Maurice to-night?”

“Yes, I believe so,–the first quadrille.”

“Well, what I was going to say is this. I don’t want you to dance many quick dances to-night, for a reason I have;–that is, not a great many.”

“Why, aunt, what nonsense!”

“Now my dearest, dearest girl, it is all for your own sake. Well, then, it must out. He does not like it, you know.”

“What he?”

“Maurice.”

“Well, aunt, I don’t know that I’m bound to dance or not to dance just as Mr. Cumming may like. Papa does not mind my dancing. The people have come here to dance and you can hardly want to make me ridiculous by sitting still.” And so that wise word did not appear to be very sweet.

And then the amusement of the evening commenced, and Marian stood up for a quadrille with her lover. She however was not in the very best humour. She had, as she thought, said and done enough for one day in Maurice’s favour. And she had no idea, as she declared to herself, of being lectured by aunt Sarah.