stand
a bridle.' He loved to have me with him; to the last he would stretch
out his hand--"

Her voice quivered and stopped, and Sylvia sat with lowered eyes,
murmuring incoherent condolences. Esmeralda's love for her dead father
was very sweet and touching, but to the more reserved nature it seemed
an extraordinary thing that she could speak so openly to a stranger, and
in the twinkling of an eye change her mood from gay to grave.

The hands of the clock were approaching the hour when the rest of the
family might be expected to return from church, yet there she sat
dreaming over the past, and apparently absolutely forgetful of the
demands of the present. Sylvia dare not risk a reminder which would
seem in the last degree unfeeling, but presently the door opened, and
Geoffrey Hilliard appeared on the threshold, looking round with anxious
inquiry.

"Good morning, Miss Trevor. The compliments of the season." Then he
looked at his wife, all incredulous and aghast. "My dear girl, what are
you about? Do you know that at any moment Bridgie may be here? I
thought you had come for the easel."

Esmeralda leaped to her feet with a cry of dismay. "Hurry! hurry!" she
cried. "Oh, what are you waiting for? Carry it for me. Be quick! be
quick!" and off she rushed with a swirl of flounces, a rustle of silk, a
wild waving of arms, while her husband chuckled with amusement, and
confided in Sylvia--

"That's the usual programme! First keeps me waiting for hours, and then
upbraids me for being slow. Keep Bridgie occupied if she comes in too
soon, please, Miss Trevor. This little surprise needs a good deal of
preparation."

What could it be? Sylvia grew quite excited as once more peals of
laughter echoed from the dining-room. Esmeralda was evidently sparing
no pains to display her presents to the best advantage, and, lucky girl,
no want of money had hampered her choice of what would be appropriate
and welcome.

"I'm glad I gave Bridgie my minute offering this morning, so that it
won't be shamed by contrast. I shall be out of this distribution, so it
doesn't matter, but I do hope they will ask me to go in," said Sylvia to
herself. "I hated Esmeralda last night, but I rather love her this
morning. She is like the little girl in the rhyme--when she is nice she
is very, very nice; but when she is bad she is--horrid!"

After all, the mysterious preparations were completed before the return
of the church party, for