igent fellow," he observed to his
daughter, when they were at last left alone,--"a very intelligent
fellow, and so thoroughly gentlemanly."

"Yes, he is very nice," returned Elizabeth; "and he seems wonderfully
interested in our new neighbors." And here she smiled a little
archly.

There was no doubt that Mr. Drummond had fully enjoyed his visit.
Nevertheless, as he left Brooklyn, and set his face towards the White
House, his manner changed, and his face became somewhat grave.

He had told himself that he owed it to his pastoral conscience to call
on Mrs. Cheyne; but, notwithstanding this monition, he disliked the
duty, for he always felt on these occasions that he was hardly up to
his office, and that this solitary member of his flock was not
disposed to yield herself to his guidance. He was ready to pity her if
she would allow herself to be pitied; but any expression of sympathy
seemed repugnant to her. Any one so utterly lonely, so absolutely
without interest in existence, he had never seen or thought to see;
and yet he could not bring himself to like her, or to say more than
the mere commonplace utterances of society. Though he was her
clergyman, and bound by the sacredness of his office to be specially
tender to the bruised and maimed ones of his flock, he could not get
her to acknowledge her maimed condition to him, or to do anything but
listen to him with cold attention, when he hinted vaguely that all
human beings are in need of sympathy. Perhaps she thought him too
young, and feared to find his judgments immature and one-sided; but
certainly his visits to the White House were failures. Mrs. Cheyne was
still young enough and handsome enough to need some sort of
chaperonage: and though she professed to mock at conventionality, she
acknowledged its claims in this respect by securing the permanent
services of Miss Mewlstone--a lady of uncertain age and uncertain
acquirements. It must be confessed that every one wondered at Mrs.
Cheyne and her choice, for no one could be less companionable than
Miss Mewlstone.

She was a stout, sleepy-looking woman, with a soft voice, and in
placidity and a certain cosyness of exterior somewhat resembled a
large white cat. Some people declared she absolutely purred, and
certainly her small blue eyes were ready to close on all occasions.
She always dressed in gray,--a very unbecoming color to a stout
person,--and when not asleep or reading (for she was a great reader)
she seeme