al
friends, thinking of Miss Buckston in what she felt to be an emergency.

Aunt Julia, with her air of general scepticism as to what she could find
so worth while in Europe, often made her embark on definitions and
declarations. She could certainly tolerate no uncertainty on the subject
of Helen's worth.

'Very odd looking,' said Aunt Julia, while the girls glanced round
indifferently at the subject of discussion.

'And peculiarly distinguished looking,' said Althea. 'She makes most
people look so half-baked and insignificant.'

'I think it a rather sinister face,' said Aunt Julia. 'And how she
slouches! Sit up, Mildred. I don't want you to catch European tricks.'

But, after dinner, Althea felt that Helen made her impression. She was
still wan and weak; she said very little, though she smiled very
pleasantly, and she sat--as Aunt Julia had said, 'slouched,' yet so
gracefully--in a corner of the sofa. The charm worked. The girls felt
it, Aunt Julia felt it, though Aunt Julia held aloof from it. Althea saw
that Aunt Julia, most certainly, did not interest Helen, but the girls
amused her; she liked them. They sat near her and made her laugh by
their accounts of their journey, the funny people on the steamer, their
plans for the summer, and life in America, as they lived it. Dorothy
assured her that she didn't know what fun was till she came to America,
and Mildred cried: 'Oh, do come! We'll give you the time of your life!'
Helen declared that she hoped some day to experience this climax.

Before going to bed, and attired in her dressing-gown, Althea went to
Helen's room to ask her how she felt, but also to see what impression
her relatives had made. Helen was languidly brushing her hair, and
Althea took the brush from her and brushed it for her.

'Isn't it lamentable,' she said, 'that Aunt Julia, who is full of a
certain sort of wise perception about other things, doesn't seem to see
at all how bad the children's manners are. She lets them monopolise
everybody's attention with the utmost complacency.'

Helen, while her hair was being brushed, put out her hand for her watch
and was winding it. 'Have they bad manners?' she said. 'But they are
nice girls.'

'Yes, they are nice. But surely you don't like their slang?'

Helen smiled at the recollection of it. 'More fun than a goat,' she
quoted. 'Why shouldn't they talk slang?'

'Dear Helen,'--they had come quite happily to Christian names--'surely
you care for ke