rung for Dorothy to show them out.

"Well, Nan, what do you think of our visitors?" asked Phillis, when
the garden-door had clanged noisily after them, and she had treated
Nan to the aforesaid hugs; "for you were so brave, darling, and
actually took the wind out of my sails!" exclaimed the enthusiastic
Phillis. "Miss Drummond is not so bad, after all, is she, in spite of
her dowdiness and fussy ways?"

"No; she means well; and so does her brother. He is very nice, only
his self-consciousness spoils him," returned Nan, in a calm,
discursive tone, as though they were discussing ordinary visitors.

It was impossible for these young girls to see that their ordinary
language was not humble enough for their new circumstances. They would
make mistakes at every turn, like Dorothy, who got out the best china
and brewed her tea in the melon-shaped silver teapot.

Phillis opened her eyes rather widely at this. Nan was not often so
observant. It was true: self-consciousness was a torment to Archibald
Drummond, a Frankenstein of his own creation, that had grown
imperceptibly with his growth to the fell measure of his manhood, as
inseparable as the shadow from the substance. Phillis had recognized
it at once; but then, as she said, no one was faultless; and then, he
was so handsome. "Very handsome" chimed in Dulce, whose opinions were
full-fledged in such matters.

"Is he? Well, I never cared for a man with a long fair beard,"
observed Nan, carelessly. Poor Archie! how his vanity would have
suffered if he had heard her! for, in a masculine way, he prided
himself excessively on the soft silky appendage that Grace had so
often praised. A certain boyish countenance, with kindly honest eyes
and a little sandy moustache, was more to Nan's taste than the
handsome young Anglican.

"Oh, we all know Nan's opinion in such matters," said Dulce, slyly;
and then Nan blushed, and suddenly remembered that Dorothy was waiting
for her in the linen-closet, and hurried away, leaving her sisters to
discuss their visitors to their hearts' content.

CHAPTER XIX.

ARCHIE IS IN A BAD HUMOR.

"Oh, Archie, I was never more astonished in my life!" exclaimed
Mattie, as she tried to adapt her uneven trot to her brother's long
swinging footsteps; and then she glanced up in his face to read his
mood: but Archie's features were inscrutable and presented an
appalling blank. In his mind he was beginning his letter to Grace, and
wondering what he