"I didn't suppose you would be willing to come," Blair said,
miserably.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said, kindly; "I'll stick it out for an
hour."

Blair ground his teeth. Harris, pulling on a very large pair of
white cotton gloves--thus did he live up to the standards of the
policemen's ball--came shuffling across the hall, and his aghast
expression when he caught sight of Mrs. Maitland was a faint
consolation to the despairing boy.

"Here! Harris! have you got places enough?" Mrs. Maitland said.
"Blair, have you counted noses? Mrs. Richie's coming, and Mr.
Ferguson."

"Mrs. Richie!" In spite of his despair, Blair had an elated
moment. He was devoted to David's mother, and there was some
consolation in the fact that she would see that he knew how to do
things decently! Then his anger burst out. "I didn't ask Mrs.
Richie," he said, his voice trembling.

"What time is supper?" his mother interrupted, "I'm getting
hungry!" She took her place at the head of the table, sitting a
little sidewise, with one foot round the leg of her chair; she
looked about impatiently, striking the table softly with her open
hand--a hand always beautiful, and to-night clean. "What nonsense
to have it so late!"

"It isn't supper," Blair said; "it's dinner; and--" But at that