und red
cheeks and bright, saucy eyes--a charming little picture of happiness
and health.

Mr. Kendrew looked inquiringly at the youngest of the two girls.

"Here is a young lady," he said, "who is a total stranger to me."

"If you had not been a total stranger yourself for a whole year past,"
answered Mrs. Vanborough, "you would never have made that confession.
This is little Blanche--the only child of the dearest friend I have.
When Blanche's mother and I last saw each other we were two poor
school-girls beginning the world. My friend went to India, and married
there late in life. You may have heard of her husband--the famous Indian
officer, Sir Thomas Lundie? Yes: 'the rich Sir Thomas,' as you call him.
Lady Lundie is now on her way back to England, for the first time since
she left it--I am afraid to say how many years since. I expected her
yesterday; I expect her to-day--she may come at any moment. We exchanged
promises to meet, in the ship that took her to India--'vows' we called
them in the dear old times. Imagine how changed we shall find each other
when we _do_ meet again at last!"

"In the mean time," said Mr. Kendrew, "your friend appears to have sent
you her little daughter to represent her? It's a long journey for so
young a traveler."

"A journey ordered by the doctors in India a year since," rejoined Mrs.
Vanborough. "They said Blanche's health required English air. Sir Thomas
was ill at the time, and his wife couldn't leave him. She had to send
the child to England, and who should she send her to but me? Look at her
now, and say if the English air hasn't agreed with her! We two mothers,
Mr. Kendrew, seem literally to live again in our children. I have an
only child. My friend has an only child. My daughter is little Anne--as
_I_ was. My friend's daughter is little Blanche--as _she_ was. And, to
crown it all, those two girls have taken the same fancy to each other
which we took to each other in the by-gone days at school. One has often
heard of hereditary hatred. Is there such a thing as hereditary love as
well?"

Before the guest could answer, his attention was claimed by the master
of the house.

"Kendrew," said Mr. Vanborough, "when you have had enough of domestic
sentiment, suppose you take a glass of wine?"

The words were spoken with undisguised contempt of tone and manner.
Mrs. Vanborough's color rose. She waited, and controlled the momentary
irritation. When she spoke to her husband it w