a new man this morning. "Yes: I
seem to understand your ways already. My first half-hour's business in
the memorable 'Anne's room' at Kingcombe Holm has been like a return of
old times. What a woman you are! You might have been brought up as I was
by Uncle Brian. You have just his ways."

Anne smiled: and with a jest about the treble compliment he had
contrived to pay, let the conversation slip past to other things.

Mary and Eulalie talked excessively. They were both much scandalised by
their brother's new position and intended course of life, to be put in
practice immediately.

Both the Miss Harpers were that sort of feminine minds which are like
some kinds of flower-bells--the less fair the wider they open. Agatha
wondered to see how very patient Miss Valery was over Mary's mild
platitudes and Eulalie's follies. But Anne's good heart seemed to cast
a shield of tenderness over everybody that bore the name of Harper. At
length the young wife got tired of the after-breakfast discussion, which
consisted of about a dozen different plans for the day--severally put
up and knocked down again--each contradicting the other. The mild
_laissez-faire_ of country life in a large family was quite too much for
her patience; she longed to get up and shake everybody into common-sense
and decision. But her husband and Miss Valery took everything
easily--they were used to the ways at Kingcombe Holm.

"Oh, if your sister Harriet would but come in, or Mr. Dugdale!" she
whispered to her husband, "surely they would settle something."

"Not at all; they would only make matters worse. And, look!--'speaking
of angels, one often sees their wings.'--Is that you, Marmaduke?"

"Ay."

Mr. Dugdale walked in composedly through the sash-window, beaming around
him a sort of general smile. He never attempted any individual greeting,
and Agatha offering her hand, was met by his surprised but benevolent
"Eh!" However, when required, he gave her a hearty grasp. After which,
peering dreamily round the room, he pounced upon a queer-looking folio,
and buried himself therein, making occasional remarks highly interesting
of their kind, but slightly irrelevant to the conversation in general.
Agatha amused herself with peeping at the title of the book--some
abstruse work on mechanical science--and then watched the reader,
thinking what great intellectual power there was in the head, and what
acuteness in the eye. Also, he wore at times a wonderfully spiri