and Marcia. It did not matter that
Ellen had stumped upstairs after the last cup of coffee, leaving Kersley
to clear the table, or that the babies might wake up and cry. Nothing
mattered when she knew that dear Mrs. Devereaux was pleased. She said to
herself that this was what gave her such a strangely exhilarated
feeling; and yet--When it was time for the guest to depart, and Marcia
came from upstairs bringing Mrs. Devereaux's fur cloak, that lady and
Kitty both looked smilingly at the girl from the midst of a
conversation.

"Must you go so soon?" pleaded Marcia.

"Yes, the carriage is waiting," said Mrs. Devereaux. "I am under the
doctor's orders, you remember, my dear. I've had a charming
Thanksgiving; you don't know how much I appreciate Mrs. Fosdyke's
letting me spend it here. And one thing has appealed to me particularly,
if you won't mind my saying it: I am more complimented, more touched, by
being made one of your little family circle, without any alteration in
your usual mode of living, than by any amount of the ceremony which is
often so foolishly considered necessary--a man behind each chair, masses
of orchids, and expensive menus." She smiled warmly at Marcia, and
added: "It is to you that I really owe my introduction into this
charmingly domestic household. Your sister, however, has made me partner
to a little secret, in response to my inquiries; she says that you are
about to be engaged to the very Mr. Battersby of whom we were speaking,
and whose address she has given me, so that I may make arrangements at
once for my nieces' portraits. She tells me that he has excellent
prospects."

"Oh!" murmured Marcia, in sudden crimson embarrassment. She could
actually feel Kersley's triumphant smile behind the dining-room
portieres.

"And as I am about to start on the Egyptian tour that will take me away
for a year, I want to know if I may take advantage of having been made
one of the family and ask you to make use of my cottage at Ardsley for
the honeymoon--which I hope may last until my return, if Mr. Battersby's
commissions don't call him away before. I will have my people put it at
your disposal."

"Dear, dear Mrs. Devereaux!" cried Marcia. If something odd in the
beating of her heart made her feel her further speech to be foolishly
incoherent, it was, perhaps, not unattractively so to her smiling
elders.

She did not hear Mr. Fosdyke's exclamation as the lights of Mrs.
Devereaux's carriage disappeared