"Why cannot you keep to the housekeeping, and let Grace do the schools and visitings?" he said, once. "It must come to her by and by, when you are gone; and I want her to begin as soon as possible. It will not do to let her think she has come too soon," implying that good taste should lead Mattie to resign of her own account.

Poor Mattie! she had many a good cry in secret before that Tuesday.

She could hardly help feeling pained to see how all-in-all those two were to each other, and the glad eagerness Grace threw into her work, knowing the reward of commendation she would reap. "It must be so strange never to be snubbed or scolded,--to do everything right,"

Mattie thought.

Grace felt very sorry for her, and petted her a good deal. The dark little face had always a pained wistfulness on it now that touched her. She spoke kindly of Mattie to her brother on all possible occasions.

"I think Mattie is so generous in giving up to me as she does," she observed, as Archie joined her in the drawing-room in expectation of their guests. Mattie had not yet made her appearance. She had been lighting the wax candles and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a refractory lamp that refused to burn, and had just run past her brother with blackened fingers and hot, tired face.

"Oh, yes, she is good enough," he returned, indifferently, as he straightened a crooked candle; "but I wish she would not always be late. She has not begun to dress, and it is the time we appointed for the Challoners to come. Of all things I hate unpunctuality and fuss, and Mattie is always so fussy."

Grace's conscience p.r.i.c.ked her. "I am afraid I left her too much to do," she said, penitently. "Phillis asked me to go for a walk with them; but I ought not to have left her. I will go and help her now."

But Archie objected:

"No, no; let her be. You must not leave me alone to receive them. How nice you look in that cream-colored dress, Grace! I thought it would suit you." But, though his eyes rested on her as he spoke, he seemed rather absent. And when the door-bell rang a moment afterwards, a sudden flush came to his face.

It was very odd to feel that he was receiving Nan as his guest. He had dreaded the ordeal greatly, but after the first moment it was not so bad. Grace, who had her suspicions and watched them closely, had them verified without doubt during the moment that followed the Challoners' entrance; but no other eyes but hers would have read anything amiss in the young vicar's gravely composed face.

Nan, who was looking beautiful, met him with her usual unconsciousness: though neither of them knew it, it was this very unconsciousness that was fast healing the wound. One cannot mourn long after a lost dream, and there had never been any reality in it. Not one of Nan's thoughts had ever belonged to him for a moment: his existence, his individuality had never grazed the outer edge of her susceptibilities. d.i.c.k had encased her from childhood in armor of proof against all manhood. Archie felt this even as he touched her hand, and his lips gave her welcome.

"I am so sorry your mother could not come," he said, politely. And then he turned to Phillis, who was regarding him with an odd, dubious look.

Archie felt the look, and his spirit rose in instant opposition.

"Do you know the Middletons are to be here, after all?" he said, moving a little into the background, for this girl had keen vision, and, as of old, her sympathy moved him strangely.

"Oh, then we shall be quite a party," she returned, brightly. "It seems ages since we have been at one, and I feel disposed to enjoy myself. The very sight of wax candles is exhilarating. I am half afraid to touch coffee, for fear it will get into my head. And how sweet Grace looks in that dress!"

"Your _chef-d'oeuvre_!" he replied, rather wickedly.

"Oh, yes, I recognize my handiwork," returned Phillis, nonchalantly.

"I am quite as proud of it as an artist would be of a picture. Here comes Mattie; poor little thing! she seems tired, but she looks nice, too."

Archie moved away after this, for the Middletons were announced; but he thought as he left her that he had never seen her look so handsome.

Nan's beauty had so blinded him that he had hardly been aware what a charming face Phillis really had: when she was pleased or excited she lighted up quite radiantly.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mattie, fussily coming up at that moment. "I don't know what has become of your cousin; but Captain Middleton says all the trains have been snowed up."

"If the train he is in has been snowed up, of course we must not expect to see him this evening," was Phillis's laughing reply. "Never mind; I dare say we shall all survive it; though Harry is such a good fellow, and I am immensely fond of him."

"Oh, but the tea and coffee will be spoiled. I must go and pour it out now. Look, Grace is making signs to me."

"Shall I come and help you?" was the ready response. "What a pretty little tea-table, Mattie, and how charmingly snug it looks in the bay-window! The gentlemen will wait on us, of course. I like this way better than servants handing round lukewarm cups from the kitchen: it is not so grand, but it is cosier. Was it your arrangement, Mattie?"

"Oh, yes," returned Mattie, in a disconsolate tone, as she took her place. "But, Phillis, are you really not anxious about your cousin? It is so dreadful to think of him snowed up all night, with nothing to eat and drink!"

Phillis laughed outright at this.

"My imagination will not conjure up such horrors. I believe Harry is at this moment sitting in the hotel discussing a good dinner before a blazing fire." And, as Mattie looked injured at this, she continued, still more merrily: "My dear, are you such an ignoramus as to believe that any amount of wax candles and charming women will induce an Englishman to forego his dinner? He will come by and by; and if he gets cold coffee, he will have his deserts." And then Mattie's anxious face grew more cheerful.

The tea-table became the nucleus of the whole room before long. Even Mr. Frere, a tall scholarly-looking man, with spectacles and a very bald head, though he was still young, seemed drawn magnetically into the circle that closed round Phillis. The girl was so natural and sprightly, there was such buoyancy and brightness in her manner; and yet no man could ever have taken a liberty with her, or mistaken the source of that pure rippling fun. The light jesting tone, the unembarra.s.sed manner, were as free from consciousness as though there were gray-headed dons round her. And yet, alas for Phillis! there was not a word uttered in a certain voice that did not reach her ear somehow; not a movement that was lost upon her, even when she chatted and laughed with those who stood round her.

Colonel Middleton was stanch to his little favorite, and sat on the couch between her and Grace, while Nan and Miss Middleton talked apart. Nan watched the tea-table smilingly. She did so love to see Phillis happy; it never occurred to her to feel herself a little neglected, or to wonder why the grave young master of the house so seldom addressed her: thoughts of this sort never entered Nan's head.

But she grew a little silent by and by, and began to answer Elizabeth somewhat absently. She did not know what it meant, but a certain strong longing took possession of her,--a sort of craving to see d.i.c.k's face and hear his voice. It was foolish, of course; and then she roused herself with difficulty.

"How late Harry is! I wonder if the train be really snowed up! Oh, that must be he!" as the door-bell sounded. "Mattie will be glad; she was so afraid the coffee would be cold." For Mattie had poured this grievance into every one's ears.

Of course it was Sir Harry. Yes, as the door opened, there were the broad, genial face and the ma.s.sive shoulders that could only belong to one person. And who was this young man following him,--a somewhat insignificant young man compared to this son of Anak,--a young man with sandy hair, with a trivial moustache, with a free, careless expression of good-nature that seemed somehow stamped on his features?

Nan did not speak or move in her corner; but she locked her hands together tightly, and a most wonderful blush came to her face; for the young man's eyes had moved quickly round the room, with an eager expression in them, and had just rested upon her.

Nan sat immovable while Sir Harry, gave the necessary introduction in his loud, jovial voice:

"I am sorry to be late,--I am, 'pon my honor, Miss Mattie! but it could not be helped: could it, Mayne? Mr. Drummond, I have taken the liberty to bring a friend with me; he is my guest at present,--Mr.

Richard Mayne. He has come down to Hadleigh to see some old acquaintances of his."

"d.i.c.k! Oh, d.i.c.k!" the words would come out now. Miss Middleton had judiciously vacated the corner of the couch, and d.i.c.k had boldly placed himself there instead, after first touching Nan's trembling hand. "What does it mean? Why have you startled me so?" she whispered, for they were in a snug corner, and no one was near them.

"I suppose a man has a right to come and look after his own belongings?" returned d.i.c.k, in the coolest possible manner. But his eyes were more eloquent than his words, as usual. "How lovely you are looking, Nan! I do believe you grow prettier every day. And are you glad to see me?--half or a quarter as glad as I am to see you?"

"I was thinking of you," she returned, softly. "I was wondering what you were doing, and picturing you at Longmead; and then the door opened, and there you were, half hidden by Harry; and I thought I was dreaming."

"Well, that was transmission of thought, don't you see?--animal magnetism, and all that sort of thing. You thought of me because I was thinking of you; but you did not know that only the door divided us.

Oh, Nan! isn't it awfully jolly to be together again?"

"Yes; but I don't understand it yet," she replied. "Have you come without your father's permission, d.i.c.k? Are you sure he will not be very angry?"

"Oh, no; the pater is all right. Sir Harry--what a brick that fellow is!--has talked him over, and he has given his consent to our engagement. Look here, Nan! what you have got to do is to pack up your things, and I am to take you down to-morrow. This is a note from mother, and you will see what she says." And Nan's gloved hand closed eagerly upon the precious missive.

The letter could not be read just then. Nan sent d.i.c.k away after that, though he would willingly have remained in his corner during the remainder of the evening. He went off grumbling, to be civil to his hostess, and Nan remained behind trying to calm herself. It was "all right," d.i.c.k had told her. She was to go down with him the next day to dear Longmead. Were their troubles really over? Well, she would hear all about it to-morrow. She must wait patiently until then.

Nan did not long remain alone. Archie, who had watched this little scene from the bay-window, suddenly took his opportunity and crossed the room.

Nan looked up at him with a happy smile.

"You have had a surprise this evening, have you not, Miss Challoner?

Sir Harry has just been telling me all about it. You will permit me now to offer my congratulations?"

"Most certainly, Mr. Drummond."

"I am so glad, for both your sakes, that things should be so comfortably settled," he went on, placing himself beside her,--a movement that mightily displeased d.i.c.k, who had conceived a dislike to the handsome parson from the first. "A parent's opposition is always a serious drawback in such cases; but Sir Harry tells me that Mr. Mayne has given his full consent."

"I believe so," returned Nan, blushing a little; "but I really hardly know any particulars. It is such a surprise to me altogether; but his mother has written to me, and I am expected down there."

"You have my warmest wishes for your happiness," continued Archie, gravely; and then Nan thanked him.