True, under the gallery was to be seen Mr.Pincornet, fadedly gorgeous in an old green velvet, but to this English stock Mr.Pincornet might give what word he chose; he remained a French dancing master.

The rustling pews nodded and smiled to each other, waiting to see Jacqueline Churchill come up the aisle in bridal lace.

Under the gallery, not far from Mr.Pincornet, sat Adam Gaudylock, easy and tawny, dressed as usual in his fringed hunting-frock, with his coonskin cap in his hand, and his gun at his feet.

Beside him sat Vinie Mocket, dressed in her best.

Vinie's eyes were downcast, and her hands clasped in her lap.