them into the crowd under him. A single tuft remained; the crowd was
melting away under him in a scramble for the fallen flowers; he made a
crooked leap, caught the tuft, and tumbled with it headlong.

"Oh!" breathed the ladies on the Benches, with a general suspiration lost
in the 'rahs and clappings, as Mavering reappeared with the bunch of
flowers in his hand. He looked dizzily about, as if not sure, of his
course; then his face, flushed and heated, with the hair pulled over the
eyes, brightened with recognition, and he advanced upon Mrs. Saintsbury's
party with rapid paces, each of which Mrs. Pasmer commentated with inward
conjecture.

"Is he bringing the flowers to Alice? Isn't it altogether too
conspicuous? Has he really the right to do it? What will people think?
Will he give them to me for her, or will he hand them directly to her?
Which should I prefer him to do? I wonder if I know?"

When she looked up with the air of surprise mixed with deprecation and
ironical disclaimer which she had prepared while these things were
passing through her mind, young Mavering had reached them, and had paused
in a moment's hesitation before his father. With a bow of affectionate
burlesque, from which he lifted his face to break into laughter at the
look in all their eyes, he handed the tattered nosegay to his father.

"Oh, how delightful! how delicate! how perfect!" Mrs. Pasmer confided to
herself.

"I think this must be for you, Mrs. Pasmer," said the elder Mavering,
offering her the bouquet, with a grave smile at his son's whim.