l his
might.

Bill had just received his meed of praise when the gong sounded, and
they had to hurry in to breakfast. They found Edna in a bewitching white
morning dress.

"I hope I am not late," observed Bessie, apologetically. "Mr. Sefton
took me to see the dogs. I did so enjoy looking at them; they are such
beautiful creatures."

"Yes, especially Bill Sykes," returned Edna sarcastically. "Well, there
is no accounting for tastes," with a critical look at Bessie's neat blue
cotton. "I never venture in the yard myself, unless I have an old ulster
on. I could not put on my dress again if all those scratchy paws had
been over it. Richard does not train them properly; they all spring up
and nearly knock me down in their clumsy gambols."

"They are like their master, eh, Edna?" returned Richard good-humoredly.
"Mother, shall I give you some ham? What time do you mean to bring Miss
Lambert to the lower meadow, Edna? We shall be carrying this evening."

"Oh, you need not expect us at all," returned Edna, to Bessie's
disappointment. "I quite forgot the Atherton's are coming this
afternoon, to practice for to-morrow."

"I thought Miss Lambert wanted to see us make hay," observed Richard,
looking at Bessie as he spoke; but she replied hastily:

"Not if your sister has other plans, Mr. Sefton, thank you all the same;
I would rather do as she wishes."

"Yes, and you are fond of lawn tennis, are you not? We have a garden
party to-morrow, and you ought to practice, you see. I want you to know
the Athertons; they are such nice girls, Florence especially; plenty of
go in them, and no nonsense."

"Yes, Florence is a sweet girl," assented her mother. "Mrs. Atherton is
a sad invalid, and they are such devoted daughters. Edna, it is your day
for writing to Neville, is it not? I want to send a message to Mrs.
Sinclair; don't you think it would be a pretty attention if you were to
write to her as well? She seems very poorly again."

"I am not inclined to pay pretty attentions to any one this morning,"
returned Edna, with a little laugh. "Bessie, can you amuse yourself
while I do my duty to my _fiance_? There are plenty of books in the
morning-room, and a deliciously shady seat under that big tree."

"Oh, that will be delightful," replied Bessie, to whom a book was a
powerful attraction. She was some time making her selection from the
well-filled bookcase, but at last fixed on some poems by Jean Ingelow,
and "The Village on the