companion.

"No, sir," she answered. "I am not more than eighteen."

Although he was talking very earnestly to his neighbor, Mr. Wilton
heard his daughter's laugh. It sounded to him a little forced and
strained. His undefined sensation of discomfort increased. He turned
and looked at Ermengarde. There certainly was something quite unusual
about her. Now he raised his eyes to her hair.

"Ermie!" he exclaimed, "what _have_ you done to your head? My dear
child, what a show you have made of yourself!"

His voice was quite clear enough for the old gentleman to hear him.

Ermengarde blushed painfully. She muttered something inaudible, and
looked down.

"What possessed you to make such a guy of yourself?" continued her
father, in a vexed tone, which was very low now. "A little girl like
you aping young ladyhood! I am very much annoyed, Ermengarde; I did
not think you could be so silly."

Then he turned his back once more, and addressed his neighbor on the
other side.

Poor Ermie felt her eyes swimming in tears. The mortification to which
her father had subjected her just at her moment of triumph was very
bitter. She could not eat a delicious _entree_ which was being offered
to her at that moment, and it is possible that, notwithstanding her
pride, she might have given way completely to her outraged feelings
had not the old gentleman come to her rescue. He was sorry for the
poor little maid who had aped the ways of the grown-up. He dropped his
quizzical manner, and entered into a pleasant conversation. He drew
Ermengarde on to speak of her home, and in especial of her brother
Basil, and he thought the little girlish face very charming indeed
when Ermie spoke eagerly of her favorite brother.

The rest of the dinner passed off fairly well, and Ermengarde hoped
she might be able to retire into a corner when she got into the
drawing-room, and so escape any more of her father's censure.

This, however, was difficult, for Lady Russell called both the girls
forward, and in especial introduced Ermengarde to several friends of
her own. Some of these ladies knew her mother, and they looked kindly
at Ermie, and only whispered together behind her back about the
extraordinary costume the poor little girl was got up in.

These ladies evidently blamed Ermengarde's father, and spoke of her as
a sadly neglected child.

Ermie felt that the ladies were whispering about her, and she began to
hate the beautiful _chiffon_ dress, and