She sat in her chair of state facing the garden, and her visitors, all on the tip-toe of expectation, stationed themselves round her.  The Bells had taken possession of the Chesterfield sofa.  By sitting rather widely apart they managed to fill it; they always looked alike.  To-night they so exactly resembled peas in a pod that one had a sense of ache and almost fatigue in watching them.  This fatigue and irritation rose to desperation when they spoke.  The Bells were poor, and their dresses bore decided signs of stint and poverty.  They wore white muslin jackets, and pale green skirts of a shining substance known as mohair.  Their mother fondly imagined that the shine and glitter of this fabric could not be known from silk.  It was harsh, however, and did not lie in graceful folds, and besides, the poor little skirts lacked quantity.

The Bells had thin hair, and no knack whatever with regard to its arrangement.  They looked unprepossessing girls, but no matter.  Beatrice thought well of them.  Mrs. Meadowsweet bestowed one or two broad glances of approval upon the inseparable little trio, and their own small hearts were dancing with expectation.

Would Bee, their darling, delightful, beautiful Bee, introduce them to Captain Bertram?  Would he speak to them and smile upon them?  Would he tell them stories of some of his gallant exploits?  The Bells’ round faces seemed to grow plumper, and their saucer eyes fuller, as they contemplated this contingency.  What supreme bliss would be theirs if Captain Bertram singled them out for attention?  Already they were in love with his name, and were quite ready to fall down in a phalanx of three, and worship the hero of many imaginary fights.

Standing by the open window, and with no shyness or stiffness whatever about them, Daisy and Polly Jenkins were to be seen.  Daisy was a full-blown girl with a rather loud voice, and a manner which was by some considered very fascinating; for it had the effect of instantly taking you, as it were, behind the scenes, and into her innermost confidence.

Daisy was rather good-looking, and was the adored of Albert Bell, the little round-faced girls’ brother.  She was dressed in voluminous muslin draperies, and was a decidedly large and comfortable-looking young woman.

Polly was a second edition of her sister, only not so good-looking.  She had made up her mind to marry Mr. Jones, the curate, who for his part was deeply in love with Beatrice.

“They are frightfully late, aren’t they?” exclaimed Daisy Jenkins, giving a slight yawn, and looking longingly out at the tennis courts as she spoke.  “I suppose it’s the way with fashionable folk.  For my part, I call it rude.  Mrs. Meadowsweet, may I run across the garden, and pick a piece of sweet brier to put in the front of my dress?  Somehow I pine for it.”

“I’ll get it for you,” said Albert Bell, blushing crimson as he spoke.

He was a very awkward young man, but his heart was as warm as his manners were uncouth.