It was to be a family party, but Roderick, in his magnanimous geniality, insisted on inviting Mr.Striker, a decision which Rowland mentally applauded.

"And we 'll have Mrs.Striker, too," he said, "if she 'll come, to keep my mother in countenance; and at any rate we 'll have Miss Striker--the divine Petronilla!" The young lady thus denominated formed, with Mrs.Hudson, Miss Garland, and Cecilia, the feminine half of the company.

Mr.Striker presented himself, sacrificing a morning's work, with a magnanimity greater even than Roderick's, and foreign support was further secured in the person of Mr.Whitefoot, the young Orthodox minister.

Roderick had chosen the feasting-place; he knew it well and had passed many a summer afternoon there, lying at his length on the grass and gazing at the blue undulations of the horizon.
It was a meadow on the edge of a wood, with mossy rocks protruding through the grass and a little lake on the other side.

It was a cloudless August day; Rowland always remembered it, and the scene, and everything that was said and done, with extraordinary distinctness.
Roderick surpassed himself in friendly jollity, and at one moment, when exhilaration was at the highest, was seen in Mr.Striker's high white hat, drinking champagne from a broken tea-cup to Mr.Striker's health.
Miss Striker had her father's pale blue eye; she was dressed as if she were going to sit for her photograph, and remained for a long time with Roderick on a little promontory overhanging the lake.