wasn't there. It represented a girl of about,
I should think, seventeen, with a profusion
of very fair fine hair, with gleeful-
looking blue eyes, and an exquisite
complexion, rather pale, but tinged with a
delicate shell, or wild-rose, pink. If the
daughter is like the mother, she is a
pretty creature. But what does she write
to you about, Daisy?"

"I haven't been able to find out,
Kenneth."

"May I try?"

"Of course you may."

Meanwhile he had taken up and was
examining the envelope.

"It has been a good while on the road,"
he said; "it has been, among other places,
to your old home, Daisy. What place is
this—Littlehampton—where is that?"

"That is where nurse lives."

"Littlehampton is where nurse lives."
Then he asked, eagerly, "Where is
Littlehampton? How do you get at it? I
should uncommonly like to see nurse again
some day."

Daisy turned from crimson to white,
then red again.

"I mean," she said, "that is where she
did live when she was first married. I
forget the name of the place she lives at
loow."

"I wonder why Daisy is telling me a
falsehood? I think it would be better and
more like Daisy to be truthful, and to trust
me."

"Kenneth!"

Daisy was, at once, ashamed, pained,
startled, and angry. But Mr. Stewart,
who had spoken with an affectation of only
thinking aloud, took no notice of Daisy's
explanation, but appeared intent upon the
reading of Myrrha Brown's letter.

"A clever young lady, I should say! I
suppose you read the postscript?"

"I didn't know there was a postscript."

"Oh yes, there is, and it contains the
gist of the letter. It informs you that
your prepared-to-be-affectionate niece,
Myrrha Brown, is on her way to pay her
dear unknown aunt, Daisy, a visit."

"To visit me, Kenneth?"

"To visit you, Daisy."

"I won't have her. I can't. I don't
know her. Even if I did, I couldn't bear
to have any one always about."

"It might be good for you, Daisy: she
may be a nice girl, and you are too much
alone."

"Good for me! It would be intolerable
to me, Kenneth!"

"You'll get used to it, you shy little
soul. For my part, I shall welcome Miss
Myrrha Brown; her coming seems to me
most opportune."

"Do you mean I must let her come?"

"I most decidedly mean you must let
her come."

"Oh, Kenneth!"

"I don't think you could help letting
her come. I think it probable she will be
here before you could tell her not to come.
The letter has been a good deal delayed.
I should not be surprised if she were here
to-day."

"Here to-day!" Daisy repeated.

Not ten minutes had elapsed, and they
were still discussing Miss Brown, when
"Behold she comes!" Mr. Stewart cried,
pointing with a tragic air to an open
vehicle, a "fly" from the small country
station, coming down the lane.

Daisy looked into Mr. Stewart's face
with such unmistakable dismay in her
own, that, instead of laughing at her, he
laid a kind hand on her shoulder, saying:

"Courage, little woman! I will help
you all I can. Don't let this young person
think herself alarming enough to put Aunt
Daisy in a flutter."

By this time the fly had stopped at the
garden-gate, and there stepped out of it a
tall, slight, young lady, elegantly "got- up"
in the style of the period; that is to say,
with a picturesqueness somewhat
theatrical, but still, on a graceful and piquant
creature; so graceful and piquant, that
one needs to be a somewhat stern moralist
(or, what comes to the same thing, a
crabbed old bachelor, whom no girl dresses
to please, a sour and ill-favoured old maid,
whom conformity with such fashion would
make ridiculous, or the father of many
daughters, smarting under the too frequent
and too heavy attacks upon his purse) to
cavil at and condemn. Of course, there
is a higher ground on which this style of
dress may be considered objectionable: it
is too evidently designed, not merely to
please, but to attract, to be in harmony
with any ideal of what woman's dress
should be.

"What can I do with such a visitor in
such a place?" Daisy exclaimed, as she
went down the garden-path, followed by
Mr. Stewart.

Miss Brown rushed upon her unknown
aunt impulsively; demonstrations of affection,
apologies, and explanations followed
each other with a rapidity that took Daisy's
breath away. Then the visitor ran back