stopped the door opened, and a man sprang
from it. Quickly he ran up the steps just as Adele appeared in the
doorway, the broad white light of the hall lamp shining about her yellow
hair like a halo, making her face with its beautiful eyes look like a
cameo in a golden setting.

"Welcome home, William," began Mrs. Raymond, but her brother-in-law
brushed by her with eyes only for the graceful figure beyond.

"My daughter! My dear little daughter!" he cried, clasping the
astonished girl in his arms.

"How beautiful you are! You are just as I pictured you."

"Oh!" burst from Bee in such heartbroken accents that Mrs. Raymond was
galvanized into action.

"William," she cried, laughing nervously, "you have made a mistake. That
is my daughter, Adele. Beatrice, come and welcome your father."

Beatrice came forward slowly. All the joy and sparkle had gone out of
her face, and in its misery it looked dull and heavy.

"Why, why," stammered Doctor Raymond, glancing from one girl to the
other, his disappointment written plainly upon his countenance. "I
thought, I certainly thought--"

"You thought that I was Bee, didn't you?" smiled Adele, gracefully
disengaging herself from his embrace. "It was a funny mistake, as we are
not a bit alike. Bee is so clever."

"Yes; I dare say." The entomologist was clearly bewildered by the
occurrence, and he greeted his own daughter awkwardly in consequence.
Bee received his caress passively, feeling with unerring intuition his
lack of warmth.

Mechanically she followed the others into the parlor, her anguish each
moment becoming more intolerable. She could not but remark how her
father's eyes were constantly straying toward Adele who was fairly
radiant. Bee had adored her cousin, and had been proud of her beauty;
but now, something closely resembling hatred crept into her heart.

Hoping that the cheer and conversation of the table would put matters
upon a more genial footing, Mrs. Raymond ushered them in to dinner. The
lady, as well as her husband, had been distressed by the incident, and
both viewed with anxiety Beatrice's constraint and coldness. The girl
was usually the gayest of the gay at table, and so light-hearted that
her aunt frequently reproved her for her levity, but now, fearful of
losing control of herself, she grew so frigid that there was no thawing
her out. The talk was chiefly among the grown people.

"What are your plans, William?" asked Henry Raymond.

"They are u