solemnly promised his wife to be jocular but not too jocular.  Neither minister could complain, for if Mr. Dishart had been asked to say grace, Mr. Gloag knew that he was to be called on for the benediction.  Christina, obeying strict orders, glided round the table leisurely, as if she were not in the least excited, though she could be heard rushing along the passage like one who had entered for a race.  And, lastly, there was, as chief guest, the celebrated Thomas Sandys.  It should have been a triumph of a tea-party, and yet it was not.  Mrs. McLean could not tell why.

Grizel could have told why; her eyes told why every time they rested scornfully on Mr. Sandys.  It was he, they said, who was spoiling the entertainment, and for the pitiful reason that the company were not making enough of him.  He was the guest of the evening, but they were talking admiringly of another man, and so he sulked.  Oh, how she scorned Tommy!

That other man was, of course, the unknown Captain Ure, gallant rescuer of boys, hero of all who admire brave actions except the jealous Sandys.  Tommy had pooh-poohed him from the first, to Grizel’s unutterable woe.

“Have you not one word of praise for such a splendid deed?” she had asked in despair.

“I see nothing splendid about it,” he replied coldly.

“I advise you in your own interests not to talk in that way to others,” she said.  “Don’t you see what they will say?”

“I can’t help that,” answered Tommy the just.  “If they ask my opinion, I must give them the truth.  I thought you were fond of the truth, Grizel.”  To that she could only wring her hands and say nothing; but it had never struck her that the truth could be so bitter.

And now he was giving his opinion at Mrs. McLean’s party, and they were all against him, except, in a measure, Elspeth’s bachelor, who said cheerily, “We should all have done it if we had been in Captain Ure’s place; I would have done it myself, Miss Elspeth, though not fond of the water.”  He addressed all single ladies by their Christian name with a Miss in front of it.  This is the mark of the confirmed bachelor, and comes upon him at one-and-twenty.

“I could not have done it,” Grizel replied decisively, though she was much the bravest person present, and he explained that he meant the men only.  His name was James Bonthron; let us call him Mr. James.

“Men are so brave!” she responded, with her eyes on Tommy, and he received the stab in silence.  Had the blood spouted from the wound, it would have been an additional gratification to him.  Tommy was like those superb characters of romance who bare their breast to the enemy and say, “Strike!”

“Well, well,” Mr. Cathro observed, “none of us was on the spot, and so we had no opportunity of showing our heroism.  But you were near by, Mr. Sandys, and if you had fished up the water that day, instead of down, you might have been called upon.  I wonder what you would have done?”