tranquilly. "She was not fanciful."

It was a relief when the tea came. Margaret did the honors, still
feeling very shy, she could not tell why, before this grave person, who
could not be more than a year or two older than herself.

"Have you come far to-day, Miss Fox?" she asked, for the sake of saying
something. The stranger put her head on one side, and gave her a quaint
look. "Any addition to one's personal menagerie is always interesting,"
she said; "but one has one's favorites in the Zoo. If it is not taking a
liberty--why Fox?"

Margaret started, and blushed violently. "I _beg_ your pardon," she
said. "Mrs. Peyton was not sure--she could not remember--is it Miss
Wolfe, then? I hope you will forgive me, Miss Wolfe!"

"Please don't," said Miss Wolfe. She smiled for the first time, and
Margaret thought she had never seen so sweet a smile. "It is not your
fault that I am philologically quadruped, surely. So long as I am not
called Zebra, I really don't mind. I always associate Zebra with Zany,
don't you know? they were in my Alphabet together. But you were saying
something which I was rude enough to interrupt."

"I only asked if you had come far."

"Not very far, if you put it in miles; only from New York; if you mean
by impressions, a thousand leagues. It is at least that from that
maelstrom to this quiet green place. How should one have nerves in a
place like this? To sit here in peace and turn slowly into a
lettuce--that would be the natural thing; but life is not natural, if
you have observed."

Margaret laughed. "Mrs. Peyton is certainly not in the least like a
lettuce; I don't know whether you see any signs of the change in me; I
have only been here two years, though."

Miss Wolfe surveyed her critically. "N--no!" she said, slowly. "I see
nothing indicating lettuce--as yet. You are cool and green--no offence,
I hope! I pay you one of the highest compliments I know of when I call
you green; it is the color of rest and harmony; cool and green enough,
and pleasantly wavy in your lines, but you have too much expression as
yet, far too much. Placidity--absence of emotion--that is what
superinduces the lettuce habit." She waved her hand gracefully, and
seemed to fall into a reverie. Margaret surveyed her in growing wonder.

At this moment Mrs. Peyton's bell rang violently; and presently a maid
appeared to say that her mistress was feeling better, and would see the
lady now. Miss Wolfe rose and glanced signi