excitement, when the door bell rang with a sharp peremptory peal.
There was a little flutter among the ladies. Such a thing had never
happened before. Fairbridge ladies were renowned for punctuality,
especially at a meeting like this, and in any case, had one been
late, she would never have rung the bell. She would have tapped
gently on the door, the white-capped maid would have admitted her,
and she, knowing she was late and hearing the hollow recitative of
Miss Bessy Dicky's voice, would have tiptoed upstairs, then slipped
delicately down again and into a place near the door.

But now it was different. Lottie opened the door, and a masculine
voice was heard. Mrs. Slade had a storm-porch, so no one could look
directly into the hall.

"Is Mrs. Slade at home?" inquired the voice distinctly. The ladies
looked at one another, and Miss Bessy Dicky's reading was unheard.
They all knew who spoke. Lottie appeared with a crimson face, bearing
a little ostentatious silver plate with a card. Mrs. Slade adjusted
her lorgnette, looked at the card, and appeared to hesitate for a
second. Then a look of calm determination overspread her face. She
whispered to Lottie, and presently appeared a young man in clerical
costume, moving between the seated groups of ladies with an air not
so much of embarrassment as of weary patience, as if he had expected
something like this to happen, and it had happened.

Mrs. Slade motioned to a chair near her, which Lottie had placed, and
the young man sat down.