It was her hair that did it," answered her husband.

"H'm!" came from his wife.

"The pretty child of to-day is the plain girl of to-morrow" commented
Miss Spraggs.

"What was her real disposition?" asked Mrs Devitt.

"I know nothin' about that; but she was always laughin' when I saw her."

"Frivolous!" commented Mrs Devitt.

"Perhaps there's more about her in the letter," suggested Lowther, who
had been listening to all that had been said.

"There is," said his step-mother; "but Miss Mee's writing is very
trying to the eyes."

Montague took the schoolmistress's letter from his wife's hand. He read
the following in his big, blustering voice:

"'In all matters affectin' Miss Keeves's educational qualifications, I
find her comme il faut, with the possible exception of freehand
drawing, which is not all that a fastidious taste might desire. Her
disposition is winnin' and unaffected, but I think it my duty to
mention that, on what might appear to others as slight provocation,
Miss Keeves is apt to give way to sudden fits of passion, which,
however, are of short duration. Doubtless, this is a fault of youth
which years and experience will correct.'"

"Rebellious!" commented Mrs Devitt.

"Spirit!" said Harold, who all this while had been reclining in his
invalid chair, apparently reading a review.

Mrs Devitt looked up, as if surprised.

"After all, everything depends on the point of view," remarked Miss
Spraggs.

"Is there any more?" asked Harold.

By way of reply, his father read from Miss Mee's letter:

"'In conclusion, I am proud to admit that Miss Keeves has derived much
benefit from so many years' association with one who has endeavoured to
influence her curriculum with the writin's of the late Mr Ruskin, whose
acquaintance it was the writer's inestimable privilege to enjoy. With
my best wishes for your welfare, I remain, dear Madam, your obedient
servant, Annie Allpress Mee.' That's all," he added, as he tossed the
letter on to the table at his wife's side.

"Did she know Ruskin?" asked Harold.

"When I was at her school--it was then at Fulham--she, or her sister,
never let a day go by without making some reference to him," replied
his step-mother.

"What are you going to do for Miss Keeves?" asked Harold.

"It's so difficult to decide off-hand," his step-mother replied.

"Can't you think of anything, father?" persisted Harold.

"It's scarcely in my line," answered Montague, glancing at his