cried the girl, in a pretty little
gush of gratitude.

"Pooh, pooh, Kate! But as to Girdlestone, he is perfectly right. If I
had you I should keep you fast to myself, I promise you. Eh, Matilda?"

"That we would, George."

"Perfect tyrants, both of us. Eh, Matilda?"

"Yes, George."

"I am afraid that I am not very useful in a household," said the girl.
"I was too young to look after things for poor papa. Mr. Girdlestone,
of course, has a housekeeper of his own. I read the _Financial News_ to
him after dinner every day, and I know all about stock and Consols and
those American railways which are perpetually rising and falling. One
of them went wrong last week, and Ezra swore, and Mr. Girdlestone said
that the Lord chastens those whom He loves. He did not seem to like
being chastened a bit though. But how delightful this is! It is like
living in another world."

The girl was a pretty figure as she stood in the window, tall, lithe,
and graceful, with the long soft curves of budding womanhood. Her face
was sweet rather than beautiful, but an artist would have revelled in
the delicate strength of the softly rounded chin, and the quick bright
play of her expression. Her hair, of a deep rich brown, with a bronze
shimmer where a sunbeam lay athwart it, swept back in those thick
luxuriant coils which are the unfailing index of a strong womanly
nature. Her deep blue eyes danced with life and light, while her
slightly _retrousse_ nose and her sensitive smiling mouth all spoke of
gentle good humour. From her sunny face to the dainty little shoe
which peeped from under the trim black skirt, she was an eminently
pleasant object to look upon. So thought the passers-by as they glanced
up at the great bow window, and so, too, thought a young gentleman who
had driven up to the hotel door, and who now bounded up the steps and
into the room. He was enveloped in a long shaggy ulster, which
stretched down to his ankles, and he wore a velvet cap trimmed with
silver stuck carelessly on the back of his powerful yellow curled head.

"Here is the boy!" cried his mother gaily.

"How are you, mam dear?" he cried, stooping over her to kiss her.
"How are you, dad? Good morning, Cousin Kate. You must come down and
wish us luck. What a blessing that it is pretty warm. It is miserable
for the spectators when there is an east wind. What do you think of it,
dad?"

"I think you are an unnatural young renegade to play agains