lty in finding them, owing to the empty wrinkled ends of the
glove fingers. She lifted a gold-rimmed eye-glass to her eyes as Anne
entered, and coolly inspected her.

"Dear me! dear me!" she said. Then, in execrable French, "What can be
done with such a young savage as this?"

"How do you do, aunt?" said Anne, using the conventional words with a
slight tremor in her voice. This was the woman who had brought up her
mother--her dear, unremembered mother.

"Grandaunt," said Miss Vanhorn, tartly. "Sit down; I can not bear to
have people standing in front of me. How old are you?"

"I am seventeen, grandaunt."

[Illustration: "DEAR ME, WHAT CAN BE DONE WITH SUCH A YOUNG SAVAGE?"]

Miss Vanhorn let her eyeglass drop, and groaned. "_Can_ anything be done
with her?" she asked, closing her eyes tightly, and turning toward
Tante, while Anne flushed crimson, not so much from the criticism as the
unkindness.

"Oh yes," said Tante, taking the opportunity given by the closed eyes to
pat the young girl's hand encouragingly. "Miss Douglas is very
intelligent; and she has a fine mezzo-soprano voice. Signor Belzini is
much pleased with it. It would be well, also, I think, if you would
allow her to take a few dancing lessons."

"She will have no occasion for dancing," answered Miss Vanhorn, still
with her eyes closed.

"It was not so much for the dancing itself as for grace of carriage,"
replied Tante. "Miss Douglas has a type of figure rare among American
girls."

"I should say so, indeed!" groaned the other, shaking her head gloomily,
still voluntarily blinded.

"But none the less beautiful in its way," continued Tante, unmoved. "It
is the Greek type."

"I am not acquainted with any Greeks," replied Miss Vanhorn.

"You are still as devoted as ever to the beautiful and refined study of
plant life, dear madame," pursued Tante, changing the current of
conversation. "How delightful to have a young relative to assist you,
with the fresh and ardent interest belonging to her age, when the
flowers bloom again upon the rural slopes of Haarderwyck!" As Tante said
this, she looked off dreamily into space, as if she saw aunt and niece
wandering together through groves of allegorical flowers.

"She is not likely to see Haarderwyck," answered Miss Vanhorn. Then,
after a moment's pause--a pause which Tante did not break--she peered at
Anne with half-open eyes, and asked, abruptly, "Do you, then, know
anything of botany?"

Tante made