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or four ladies were in the room, more or less young, more or less
pretty, more or less elegantly dressed, and all with more or less
elaborate pieces of needlework. There was one gentleman, young and
dark, with large brown eyes, who seemed to be employed in making paper
pellets of an old letter, chatting the while in a low voice to a young
lady with a good deal of red hair. We afterwards found out that he was
an Irishman, familiarly called 'Pat' by some of the young ladies, who
seemed to be related to him. We had seen all this when the man-servant
appeared at the door.

"'Where is Miss Lucy, Thompson?' our hostess asked, sharply.

"'I will inquire, ma'am,' Thompson replied, with the utmost softness,
and vanished.

"The scratching began again, the Irishman went on gently chatting, and
it all felt very like a horrid dream. Then Thompson reappeared.

"'Miss Lucy is out, ma'am.'

"'Did she know what time these young ladies were to arrive?'

"'Miss Lucy knew that the carriage had gone to meet them, ma'am.'

"'Very thoughtless! Very thoughtless indeed!' said the lady. Thompson
paused respectfully, as if to receive the full weight of the remark,
and then vanished noiselessly as before.

"There was an awkward pause. Our hostess left off scratching, and
looked very cross; the Irishman fired one of his pellets across the
room, and left off chatting, and the red-haired young lady got up, and
rustled across to us. I remember her so well, Ida, for we fell deeply
in love with her and her kindness. I remember her green and white
dress. She had a fair round face, more pleasant than really pretty, a
white starlike forehead, almost too firm a mouth, but a very gentle
voice, at least, so we thought, when she said:

"'As Lucy is out, may I take these young ladies to their room?'

"Our hostess hesitated, and murmured something about Bedford, who was
the lady's maid. The starlike forehead contracted, and the red-haired
young lady said, rather emphatically:

"'As Lucy is not in to receive her friends, I thought I might perhaps
supply her place.'

"'Well, my dear Kate, if you will be so kind,' said our hostess, 'I
must finish these letters.'

"'The yellow room?' said the young lady, abruptly, and swept us off
without further parley. The Irish gentleman opened the door for us,
staring with a half-puzzled, half-amused look at the lofty air with
which the young lady passed out. He followed us into the hall, where
we left him d