would always retain that childish
sweetness and purity, that had always made her seem more of heaven than
earth. Before she left Congreve Hall, Olive many times wondered that the
child was not spoiled, for her slightest wish was law, from the owner
down to the last servant therein.

When the bell rang for tea, it broke in upon an earnest cosy chat
between the sisters, and made them reluctant to leave their seat in the
twilight; but Mr. Congreve was punctual to the letter, and required the
same of others, so Jean led the way in a moment, and together they
descended the stairs and entered the room.

"Here you are, with your face clean, and a posy in your hair," cried Mr.
Congreve, from his stand on the rug. "Fine looking girl, you are, my
dear, and a Congreve every inch of you. Come here, and shake a paw with
your Uncle Ridley."

Olive did so, and conscious that another gentleman was standing outside
the circle of light, and doubtless regarding her as she crossed the room
to "shake a paw," she advanced, and tried not to think whether she was
doing so gracefully or not.

"That's the way," exclaimed Mr. Congreve, drawing her into the brightest
light. "Roger, here is your Cousin Olive, and Olive, this is Roger
Ridley Congreve at your service, and we will suppose that you are
cousins, for the want of a better name. Now shake hands and be friends,
children."

The gentleman came forward, and conscious that her face was growing
scarlet, Olive bowed slightly, and murmured something wherein no words
were audible, but his name, and grew furiously angry with herself,
because she had become confused at the sight of a gentleman, where she
had expected to see only a youth.

"Hoity-toity!" cried Mr. Congreve. "That will never do; call the boy
Roger, Olive, and then we will go to supper."

"The boy" smiled in a friendly fashion, and supposing that her confusion
arose from the old gentleman's abrupt manner, he held out his hand.

"Let us shake and be friendly, Cousin Olive, and it is a great wonder
that he doesn't command a kiss of greeting, on the strength of our being
cousins, more or less distantly removed."

As he spoke, Olive looked up with a startled air, and unconscious that
he was holding her hand, she looked straight at him for several moments.
Where had she ever seen that face and heard that voice?

"What's the matter?" cried Jean, for the memory was in some way painful
to her, and reflected itself so in her face.