club-foot." But he carried his lameness, as he carried his years, gayly.
He was socially celebrated for his ivory cane, with a snuff-box artfully
let into the knob at the top--and he was socially dreaded for a hatred
of modern institutions, which expressed itself in season and out of
season, and which always showed the same, fatal knack of hitting smartly
on the weakest place. Such was Sir Patrick Lundie; brother of the late
baronet, Sir Thomas; and inheritor, at Sir Thomas's death, of the title
and estates.

Miss Blanche--taking no notice of her step-mother's reproof, or of her
uncle's commentary on it--pointed to a table on which croquet mallets
and balls were laid ready, and recalled the attention of the company to
the matter in hand.

"I head one side, ladies and gentlemen," she resumed. "And Lady Lundie
heads the other. We choose our players turn and turn about. Mamma has
the advantage of me in years. So mamma chooses first."

With a look at her step-daughter--which, being interpreted, meant, "I
would send you back to the nursery, miss, if I could!"--Lady Lundie
turned and ran her eye over her guests. She had evidently made up her
mind, beforehand, what player to pick out first.

"I choose Miss Silvester," she said--with a special emphasis laid on the
name.

At that there was another parting among the crowd. To us (who know her),
it was Anne who now appeared. Strangers, who saw her for the first
time, saw a lady in the prime of her life--a lady plainly dressed in
unornamented white--who advanced slowly, and confronted the mistress of