as when you lived in Gower-street; but you must remember that you are a
great deal altered from the little girl that I used to know."

Kitty could not speak; she stooped and began to gather the presents
again into her apron. Vivian came and helped her. He could not forbear
giving her hand a little kindly pat when he had finished, as if he had
been dealing with a child. But the playful caress, if such it might be
called, had no effect on Kitty's sore and angry feelings. She was
terribly ashamed of herself now: she could hardly bear to remember his
calmly superior tone, his words of advice, which seemed to place her on
a so much lower footing than himself.

But in a day or two this feeling wore off. He was so kindly and friendly
in manner, that she was emboldened to laugh at the recollection of the
tone in which he had alluded to her elaborately-dressed hair and long
dresses, and to devise a way of surprising him. She came down one day to
afternoon tea in an old school-girlish dress of blue serge, rather short
about the ankles, a red and white pinafore, and a crimson sash. Her hair
was loose about her neck, and had been combed over her forehead in the
fashion in which she wore it in her childish days. Thus attired, she
looked about fourteen years old, and the shy way in which she glanced at
the company from under her eyelashes, added to the impression of extreme
youth. To carry out the character, she held a battledore and shuttlecock
in her hand.

"Kitty, are you rehearsing for a fancy ball?" said Mrs. Heron.

"No, Isabel. I only thought I would try to transform myself into a
little girl again, and see what it felt like. Do I look very young
indeed?"

"You look about twelve. You absurd child!"

"Is the battledore for effect, or are you going to play a game with it?"
asked Rupert, who had been surveying her with cold criticism in his
eyes.

"For effect, of course. Don't you think it is a very successful
attempt?" she said, looking up at him saucily.

He made no answer. Elizabeth wanted the tea-kettle at that moment, and
he moved to fetch it. Hugo Luttrell, however, who was paying a call at
the house, was ready enough with a reply.

"It could not be more successful," he said, looking at her admiringly.
"I suppose"--in a lowered tone--"that you looked like this in the
school-room. I am glad those days are over, at any rate."

"I am not," said Kitty, helping herself to bread and butter. "I should
like them all ove