“As it is certainly right,” she began, “that a woman should be one of those who return thanks to our lecturer, and as I fear that no other woman present will be inclined to undertake this duty, I will make no apology for trying to perform it.  And that in very few words.  Speaking for myself, I cannot pretend to agree with the whole of Mr. Quarrier’s address; I think his views were frequently timid” —­laughter and hushing—­“frequently timid, and occasionally quite too masculine.  I heard once of a lady who proposed to give a series of lectures on ‘Astronomy from a Female Point of View’” (a laugh from two or three people only), “and I should prefer to entitle Mr. Quarrier’s lecture, ‘Woman from a Male Point of View.’  However, it was certainly well-meaning, undoubtedly eloquent, and on the whole, in this time of small mercies, something for which a member of the struggling sex may reasonably be grateful.  I wish, therefore, to add my voice to the proposal that a vote of thanks be offered to our lecturer, with all sincerity and all heartiness.”

“A devilish good little speech!” Denzil murmured to himself, as the applause and merriment broke forth.

The show of hands seemed to be universal.  Denzil was enjoying an enormous happiness.  He had proved to himself that he could speak, and henceforth the platform was his own.  Now let the dissolution of Parliament come with all convenient speed; he longed to begin the political conflict.

Committee-men crowded about him, offering hands, and brimming with facetious eulogy.

“You were on very thin ice now and then,” said Mr. Liversedge.  “You made me shake in my shoes.  But the skating was admirable.”

“I never knew Mrs. Wade so complimentary,” remarked old Mr. Toft.  “I expected half an hour’s diatribe, ‘the rapt oration flowing free,’ as Tennyson says.  You have taught her good manners.”

Down in the hall was proceeding an animated conversazione.  In one group stood the Mayor and his wife, Miss Mumbray, and Ivy Glazzard.  Serena was turning aside to throw a shawl over her shoulders, when Eustace Glazzard stepped up.

“Pray let me assist you, Miss Mumbray.”  He placed the wrap.  “I hope you have been amused?”

“I have, really,” answered the girl, with a glance towards Ivy, who had heard her uncle’s voice.

“You, Ivy,” he continued, “are rather on Mrs. Wade’s side, I think?”

“Oh, uncle—­how can you!”

Mr. Mumbray was looking on, trying to determine who the gentleman might be.  Glazzard, desirous of presentation to the Mayor, gave Ivy a glance, and she, with much nervousness, uncertain whether she might do such a thing, said to her friend’s father: 

“I think, Mr. Mumbray, you don’t know my uncle, Mr. Eustace Glazzard?”

“Ha! very glad to meet you, Mr. Glazzard.  My love,” he turned to the Mayoress, “let me present to you Mr. Eustace Glazzard—­Mr. William’s brother.”