to make some reply, and Ursula, grasping her arm, as she
feared, with an energetic pinch, went in quickly. Little Amy had been
playing in the little square hall, which was strewed with doll's
clothes, and with two or three dolls in various stages of dilapidation.
Some old, ragged school-books lay in a corner, the leaves out of one of
which were blowing about in the wind. Even ten days of Anne Dorset's
orderly reign had opened Ursula's eyes to these imperfections.

"Oh, what a muddle!" she cried; "I don't wonder that Reginald does not
care for living at home."

"Oh, I wish papa heard you!" cried Janey loudly, as Ursula led the way
into the drawing-room, which was not much tidier than the hall. There
was a basket-full of stockings to be mended, standing on the old
work-table. Ursula felt, with a sinking of the heart, that they were
waiting for her arrival, and that Janey had done nothing to them. More
toys and more old school-books were tossed about upon the faded old
carpet. The table-cover hung uneven, one end of it dragging upon the
floor. The fire was burning very low, stifled in dust and white ashes.
How dismal it looked! not like a place to come home to. "Oh, I don't
wonder Reginald is vexed to be made to live at home," she said once
again to herself, with tears in her eyes.

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself," her brother said, as she dropped
wearily into the old easy-chair. "We have missed you very much; but I
don't suppose you missed us. London was very pleasant, I suppose, even
at this time of the year?"

"Oh, pleasant!" said Ursula. "If you had been with me, how you would
have liked it! Suffolk Street is only an inn, but it is a very nice inn,
what they call a private hotel. Far better than the great big places on
the American principle, Sir Robert says. But we dined at one of those
big places one day, and it was very amusing. Scores of people, and great
mirrors that made them look hundreds. And such quantities of lights and
servants; but Sir Robert thought Suffolk Street very much the best. And
I went to two theatres and to a ball. They were so kind. Sophy Dorset
laughs at me sometimes, but Anne is an angel," said Ursula fervently. "I
never knew any one so good in my life."

"That is not saying much," said Janey, "for none of us are very good,
and you know nobody else. Anne Dorset is an old maid."

"Oh, Janey! how dare you?"

"And, for that matter, so is Sophy. Papa says so. He says she was
jilted, an