t
be ready to go out together, and the money is all hers--don't forget
that, my dear Evelyn, and _you_ must go back to England to your own, and
I--"

"That I will never do," she in turn interrupted haughtily. "Play second
fiddle, indeed, to mamma's grand relations, mean, and proud, and
presumptuous, I dare say, and full of scorn for me (a poor
army-captain's daughter), as they were for my father? No, I shall stay
here and shine to the best of my ability. The money is all papa's while
he lives, and he is still a young man, you know, and Miriam's turn will
come when mine is over. One at a time, you see. Good gracious! it would
seem like throwing away money, though, to dress up that little dingy
thing in pearls and laces. Ten to one but what she will marry that lame
imp next door as soon as she is grown, and endow him with the whole of
it--that 'little devil on two sticks,' and I must have my run before
then, of course." She laughed merrily at the conceit.

"I hear you, Evelyn Erie," I exclaimed tragically from the balcony on
which I sat, engaged, on this occasion, in illuminating, with the most
brilliant colors my paint-box afforded, a book of engravings for the
especial benefit of George Gaston. It was his private opinion that
Titian himself never painted with more skill, or gorgeous effect, than
the youthful artist in his particular employ. "I hear you, miss, and you
ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so behind his back, of a poor,
afflicted boy like George, too good, a thousand times too good, to marry
any one, even Cinderella herself. 'The devil on two sticks,' indeed!"

"Don't preach, I pray, Miriam. You have quite a dispensation in that way
lately, I perceive. If you _must_ eavesdrop, keep quiet about it now and
hereafter, I beg."

"I was not eavesdropping," I screamed. "I have been painting out here
all the afternoon, and Mrs. Austin knows it, and so might you. You are
always accusing me of doing wrong and mean things that I would cut off
my"--hesitating for a comparison--"my curls rather than do. Let me
alone!"

"Your curls, indeed!" and she came out of the window and stood on the
balcony beside me. "Do you call those tufts your curls?" taking one of
them disdainfully with the tips of her dainty fingers, then pulling it
sharply. "They make you look like a little water-dog, that's what they
do, and I am going to cut them off at once.--Bring me the scissors, Mrs.
Austin, and let me begin."

In the strug