ith solitary scrubby shrubs in their small
front slips of low-spirited looking gardens, four or five dingy and
tall houses without the scrubby shrubs in their small front slips of
low-spirited looking gardens, rows of Venetian blinds of various shades,
and one or two lamp-posts,--not much to enliven the prospect.

The inhabitants of the houses in Bloomsbury Place were not prone to
sitting at their front windows, accordingly; but this special afternoon,
the weather being foggy, Aimee finding herself alone in the parlor, had
left the fire just to look at this same fog, though it was by no means a
novelty. The house was very quiet. 'Toinette was out, and so was
Mollie, and Tod was asleep, lying upon a collection of cushions on the
hearth-rug, with two fingers in his mouth, his round baby face turned up
luxuriously to catch the warmth.

The wise one was waiting for Mollie, who had gone out a few hours before
to execute divers commissions of a domestic nature.

"She might have been back in half the time," murmured the family sage,
who sat on the carpet, flattening her small features against the glass.
"She might have done what she has to do in _less_ than half the time,
but I knew how it would be when she went out. She is looking in at the
shop windows and wishing for things. I wish she would n't. People stare
at her so, and I don't wonder. I am sure I cannot help watching her
myself, sometimes. She grows prettier every day of her life, and she is
beginning to know that she does, too."

Five minutes after this the small face was drawn away from the
window-pane with a sigh of relief.

"There she is now. What a time she has been! Who is with her, I wonder?
I cannot see whether it is Phil or Mr. Gowan, it is getting so dark. It
must be Mr. Gowan. 'Toinette would be with them if it was Phil."

"Why, Mollie," she exclaimed, when the door opened, "I saw somebody with
you, and I thought it was Mr. Gowan. Why did n't he come in? Don't waken
Tod."

Mollie came in rather hurriedly, and going to the fire knelt down before
it, holding out her hands to warm them. Her cheeks were brilliant with
color and her eyes were bright; altogether, she looked a trifle excited.

"It was n't Mr. Gowan," she answered. "Ugh! how cold it is,--not frosty,
you know, but that raw sort of cold, Aimee. I would rather have the
frost myself, would n't you?"

But Aimee was not thinking of the weather.

"Not Mr. Gowan!" she ejaculated. "Who was it, the