ewhat stiff, in
her deportment. At present she felt intoxicated at the prospect of
enjoying for ten days the irresponsibility of private life.

Miss West had not by any means attained the Indian summer of Miss
Sandys; she was still in the more trying transition stage. In spite of
the shady hollows in the cheeks, and the haggard lines about the
mouth, she was a young woman yet. Indeed, had it not been for those
hollows and lines, she would have been pretty--as she was when the
clear cheeks had no wanness in their paleness, but were round and
soft; when the straight mouth pouted ever so little, and the sharp
eyes were bright, and the fine dark hair was profuse instead of
scanty. But she laid no claim to prettiness now, and dressed as
plainly as feminine propriety would allow.

As she sat in the linen and drugget-covered parlour, which was a
drawing-room when in full-dress, she could not help a half-conscious
restraint creeping over her. But this was not because Miss Sandys was an
ogress, rather because she herself had grown semi-professional even in
holiday trim. She looked into the compressed fire in the high,
old-fashioned grate, and wondered how she would pass the coming idle
week. She had spent a good many idle weeks at Carter Hill before; but
they always came upon her afresh with a sense of strangeness, bringing
at the same time a tide of old associations.

Miss Sandys was a blunt woman by nature, and it was only by great effort
that she had become fine-edged. So she said to Miss West, with a sort
of naive abruptness, "I'll tell you what, Miss West, we'll have cake to
tea, because there are only you and I, and it is the first night of the
holidays; and we'll have a strong cup, since we have all the teapot to
ourselves. I think I shall try my hand this week at some of my old
tea-cakes and pies and things which my mother taught me to bake. I am
going to have my cousin Jamie and his wife here. He is a rough sailor,
and his conversation does not suit before the girls. She was only a
small farmer's daughter, and cannot behave prettily at all. But they are
worthy people, and are the nearest relations I have left in the world.
Perhaps I'll take you to see them in the summer, Miss West. Ah, dear! it
is liberty-hall at my cousin Jamie's little place. Peggy's Haven, he
calls it, after his old ship and his old wife. But it is a fine change
for me, though it would not do for the young people to hear about
it--you understand,