n.

When she rejoined me, leaving her mother above stairs, I asked, "What
does she think of her room?"

"Well, it doesn't quite suit her. She thinks the furniture scanty and
shabby, water scarce, towels rather coarse, and she can't endure the
sight of a kerosene lamp; but she will make herself quite comfortable, I
dare say."

"And everybody else uncomfortable," I felt like adding, but restrained
myself.

She came down to tea, and being offered a seat on the other side of me
from Bessie, firmly declined it, and took the one on the other side of
her daughter from me. As she unfolded her napkin she took in the whole
table with a searching glance, and had formed a quick estimate of
everybody sitting around it. Miss Clara Van Duzen and Mr. Desmond, her
uncle, sat opposite, and an introduction across the table took place.
The young lady was vivacious and talkative, and tried to make herself
agreeable, but my mother-in-law did not like what she afterwards called
her "chatter," and set her down as a frivolous young person. "Miss Van,"
as everybody called her, with her own approval,--for, as she said, she
detested the Duzen which her Dutch ancestors had bequeathed her with
their other property,--was of New York Knickerbocker origin, now living
with her uncle in Boston, and was by no means frivolous, though
uncommonly lively. She had fine, brown eyes, beautiful hair, and a
complexion that defied sun and wind. It had the rosy glow of health, and
indicated a good digestion and high spirits. Mr. Desmond seemed to be
mostly white vest, immaculate shirt-front, and gold chain, the
last-named article being very heavy and meandering through the
button-holes of his vest and up around his invisible neck. He said
little, and was evidently not much given to light conversation. He was
very gracious in his attentions to the ladies, however, and seemed to
pay special deference to Mrs. Pinkerton. I afterwards learned that he
was a widower of long standing, without chick or child, and the guardian
of his niece, whom he regarded with great admiration.

Down at the other end of the table was Marston, evidently giving vent
to his impatience about something, and his wife, with fierce eyes,
telling him, in manner if not in words, not to make a fool of himself.
The rest of the company was made up either of transient visitors or of
persons with whom this story has nothing in particular to do.

As we emerged on the piazza after tea, Fred, who had