andlord with the tea-things. How inciting!"

The table was spread, and cake, bread and butter, and fruit provided.
Lady Helen and Rochester came back. They both looked a little
conscious and a little afraid of Sibyl, but as she turned her back on
them the moment they appeared, and pretended to be intensely busy
picking a bouquet of flowers, they took their courage in their hands
and came forward and joined in the general conversation.

Lady Helen elected to pour out tea, and was extremely cheerful,
although she could not help reddening when Sibyl brought her a very
large marguerite daisy, and asked her to pull off the petals and see
whether the rhyme came right.

"What rhyme?" asked Lady Helen.

"I know it all, shall I say it to you?" cried Sibyl. She began to pull
off the different petals, and to repeat in a childish sing-song
voice:--

"One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say,
Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away,
Six _he_ loves, seven _she_ loves, eight they both love,
Nine he comes, ten he tarries,
Eleven he woos, twelve he marries."

Sibyl repeated this nonsense with extreme gusto, and when the final
petal on the large daisy proclaimed that "twelve he marries," she
flung the stalk at Rochester and laughed gaily.

"I knew _you'd_ have luck," she said. Then she caught her mother's
warning eye and colored painfully, thus making the situation, if
possible, a little more awkward.

"Suppose we go for a row on the river this lovely afternoon," said
Lady Helen, starting up restlessly. She had talked of the coming
bazaar, and had wandered through the rooms at Silverbel, and had
listened to Mrs. Ogilvie's suggestions with regard to furniture and
different arrangements until she was almost tired of the subject.

Rochester sprang to his feet.

"I can easily get a boat," he said; "I'll go and consult with mine
host."

He sauntered across the grounds, and Sibyl, after a moment's
hesitation, followed him. A boat was soon procured, and they all found
themselves on the shining silver Thames.

"Is that why our house is called Silverbel?" asked Sibyl. "Is it 'cos
we can see the silver shine of the river, and 'cos it is _belle_,
French for beautiful?"

"Perhaps so," answered the mother with a smile.

The evening came on, the heat of the day was over, the sun faded.

"What a pity we must go back to London," said Sibyl. "I don't think I
ever had such a lovely