THE SCANDAL.

IT was still early in the afternoon when the guests at Lady Lundie's
lawn-party began to compare notes together in corners, and to agree in
arriving at a general conviction that "some thing was wrong."

Blanche had mysteriously disappeared from her partners in the dance.
Lady Lundie had mysteriously abandoned her guests. Blanche had not
come back. Lady Lundie had returned with an artificial smile, and a
preoccupied manner. She acknowledged that she was "not very well." The
same excuse had been given to account for Blanche's absence--and, again
(some time previously), to explain Miss Silvester's withdrawal from the
croquet! A wit among the gentlemen declared it reminded him of declining
a verb. "I am not very well; thou art not very well; she is not very
well"--and so on. Sir Patrick too! Only think of the sociable Sir
Patrick being in a state of seclusion--pacing up and down by himself in
the loneliest part of the garden. And the servants again! it had even
spread to the servants! _They_ were presuming to whisper in corners,
like their betters. The house-maids appeared, spasmodically, where house
maids had no business to be. Doors banged and petticoats whisked in the
upper regions. Something wrong--depend upon it, something wrong! "We
had much better go away. My dear, order the carriage"--"Louisa, love,
no more dancing; your papa is going."--"_Good_-afternoon, Lady
Lundie!"--"Haw! thanks very much!"--"_So_ sorry for dear Blanche!"--"Oh,
it's been _too_ charming!" So Society jabbered its poor, nonsensical
little jargon, and got itself politely out of the way before the storm
came.

This was exactly the consummation of events for which Sir Patrick had