These, with Mr. Porson and his daughter, made up the number who upon
this particular night with every intention of enjoying themselves, sat
down to that rather rare entertainment in Monksland, a dinner-party.

Colonel Monk had himself very carefully placed the guests. As a result,
Morris, to whose lot it had fallen to take in the wealthy Miss Layard,
a young lady of handsome but somewhat ill-tempered countenance, found
himself at the foot of the oblong table with his partner on one side
and his cousin on the other. Mary, who was conducted to her seat by Mr.
Layard, the delicate brother, an insignificant, pallid-looking specimen
of humanity, for reasons of her own, not unconnected perhaps with the
expected presence of the Misses Layard and Rose, had determined to look
and dress her best that night. She wore a robe of some rich white silk,
tight fitting and cut rather low, and upon her neck a single row of
magnificent diamonds. The general effect of her sheeny dress, snow-like
skin, and golden, waving hair, as she glided into the shaded room,
suggested to Morris's mind a great white lily floating down the quiet
water of some dark stream, and, when presently the light fell on her,
a vision of a silver, mist-laden star lying low upon the ocean at the
break of dawn. Later, after she became acquainted with these poetical
imaginings, Mary congratulated herself and her maid very warmly on the
fact that she had actually summoned sufficient energy to telegraph to
town for this particular dress.

Of the other ladies present, Miss Layard was arrayed in a hot-looking
red garment, which she imagined would suit her dark eyes and complexion.
Miss Rose, on the contrary, had come out in the virginal style of muslin
and blue bows, whereof the effect, unhappily, was somewhat marred by a
fiery complexion, acquired as the result of three days' violent play at
a tennis tournament. To this unfortunate circumstance Miss Layard, who