collected in the hall, waiting the arrival of the guests. The fiddles
are scraping away in the drawing-room, where the furniture having been
taken away and the carpet removed, the floor looks inviting and 'is
perfectly delicious' owns Philippa, having performed a _pas seul_
thereon, before anyone was down. She looks extremely pretty to-night in
a quaint, little white satin dress, her hair fluffed all round her
head, and tied up with pale green ribbons.

At this moment she is striving in vain to button up one of Chubby's
gloves. 'It's awfully good of you,' he says. 'I can't think why they are
so tight, what--'

'If I don't button it this time,' she replies, 'I really can't try any
more, for I have not got my own on yet, and I know they'll begin to
dance in a moment.'

'You'll let me have the first, won't you?' he says.

'Certainly,' she answers, all her attention absorbed in the button which
is just half in the button-hole, one little poke and 'there it's done,'
she says.

But alas! it is _done_ indeed, for there is an ominous crack, and a
large split is seen right across it.

'What a nuisance,' says Helmdon, gazing at the torn article.

'Oh I hope it wasn't my fault,' says Lippa.

'No; not at all, I assure you--'