own head was just touched by
the "Boy," and she was a little off her guard.

"My dear child," said Clara, "you have only just come, and you have
not yet learned to know and love your own home and your father's
friends. You must take a little time."

"Oh, I'll take time. As long as you like. But I shall soon be tired of
sitting at home. I want to go about and see things--theaters and
music-halls, and all kinds of places."

"Ladies, in England, do not go to music-halls," said Arnold.

"Gentlemen do. Why not ladies, then? Answer me that. Why can't ladies
go, when gentlemen go? What is proper for gentlemen is proper for
ladies. Very well, then, I want to go somewhere every night. I want to
see everything there is to see, and to hear all that there is to
hear."

"We shall go, presently, a good deal into society," said Clara
timidly. "Society will come back to town very soon now--at least, some
of it."

"Oh, yes, I dare say. Society! No, thank you, with company manners. I
want to laugh, and talk, and enjoy myself."

The champagne, in fact, had made her forget the instructions of her
tutor. At all events, she looked anything but "quiet," with her face
flushed and her eyes bright. Suddenly she caught Arnold's expression
of suspicion and watchfulness, and resolutely subdued a rising
inclination to get up from the table and have a walk round with a
snatch of a Topical Song.

"Forgive me, Clara," she murmured in her sweetest tone, "forgive me,
cousin. I feel as if I must break out a bit, now and then. Yankee
manners, you know. Let me stay quiet with you for a while. You know
the thought of starched and stiff London society quite frightens me. I
am not used to anything stiff. Let me stay at home quiet, with you."

"Dear girl!" cried Clara, her eyes filling with tears; "she has all
Claude's affectionate softness of heart."

"I believe," said Arnold, later on in the evening, "that she must have
been a circus rider, or something of that sort. What on earth does
Clara mean by the gentle blood breaking out? We nearly had a breaking
out at dinner, but it certainly was not due to the gentle blood."

After dinner, Arnold found her sitting on a sofa with Clara, who was
telling her something about the glories of the Deseret family. He was
half inclined to pity the girl, or to laugh--he was not certain
which--for the patience with which she listened, in order to make
amends for any bad impression she might have produced at dinne