ace's pale cheeks had the loveliest tinge in
them.

"Have we left you too long alone, Mattie dear?" she asked, as she took
the cup of tea offered her. "How cosy this dear old room looks! and
what a beautiful fire!"

"Sir Harry has been emptying the coal-scuttle!" laughed Mattie. "What
a pity you missed him, Grace! he has been so amusing."

Grace smiled incredulously:

"Why, that great big Sir Harry Challoner whom you introduced this
morning! my dear Mattie, I am sure he could never be amusing. I was
not greatly prepossessed with him."

"Mattie's geese are all swans. I don't think much of him myself,"
broke in Archie, in a satirical voice. "I like quality better than
quantity. He is so big, I am sure his brains must suffer by
comparison. Now, there is Frere."

"Oh, yes, we met Mr. Frere!" interrupted Grace, eagerly; "and Archie
and he had such a talk: it was delightful only to listen to it. I
liked his ideas on ecclesiastical architecture, Archie." And then
followed an animated discussion between the sister and brother, about
a book of Ruskin's that they had both been reading. Mattie tried to
follow them; but she had not read Ruskin, and they soon left her miles
behind; indeed, after the first few minutes they seemed to have
forgotten her existence; but somehow Mattie did not feel so forlorn as
usual.

"Come, now, I call that hard," a sympathizing voice seemed to say in
her ear. Sir Harry's genial presence, his blunt, kindly speeches, had
done Mattie good: he had called her Cinderella, and made the fire
blaze for her, and had coaxed her in quite a brotherly manner to tell
him her little troubles and Mattie felt very grateful to him.

So she stared into the fire wistful and happy, while the others talked
over her head, and quite started when she heard her own name.

"We are forgetting Mattie; all this must be so dull for her," Grace
was saying, as she touched her shoulder caressingly. "Come upstairs
with me, dear: we can have a chat while we get ready for dinner. You
must not let your friends make themselves so much at home, you
extravagant child, for your fire is far too large for comfort;" but
Mattie turned away from it reluctantly as she followed her sister out
of the room.

CHAPTER XLIII.

"I WILL WRITE NO SUCH LETTER."

The new year had not opened very auspiciously at Longmead, neither had
the Christmas festivities been great.

Dick on his first return home had put on a great appearance of