use, and very speedily conquered the boy Leonard's aversion to
'new girls.' In less than a week they were chums, and she was a frequent
visitor to his den in the attics, where he contrived all sorts of
wonderful things, devoting more time to them than to his legitimate
lessons, which his soul abhorred. But though she was invariably
cheerful, ever ready to share and sympathise with all the varied
interests of the house, there was a stillness of manner, a 'dreamy
far-offness,' as Mina expressed it, which indicated that sometimes her
thoughts were elsewhere.

The three girls were sitting round the drawing-room fire one wet,
boisterous afternoon, chatting cosily, and waiting for tea to come up.
Between Clara and Gladys there seemed to be a peculiar understanding,
although Mr. Fordyce's elder daughter was not the favourite of the
family. Her manner was too stiff, and she had a knack at times of saying
rather sharp, disagreeable things. But not to Gladys Graham. In these
few days they had become united in the bonds of a love which was to
stand all tests. Clara was sitting on a low chair, Gladys kneeling by
her side, with her arm on her knee. So sitting, they presented a
contrast, each a fine foil to the other. The stately, dark beauty of
Clara set off the fairer loveliness of the younger girl; neither
suffered by the contrast. These days of peace and restful, luxurious
living had robbed Gladys of her wearied listlessness, had given to her
delicate cheek a bloom long absent from it. Her simple morning gown,
made by a fashionable _modiste_ who had delighted to study her fair
model, seemed part of herself. She was a striking and lovely girl, of a
higher type than the two beside her.

'Oh, girls,' cried Mina, with a yawn, and tossing back her brown unruly
locks with an impatient gesture, 'isn't it slow? Can't you wake up? You
haven't spoken a word for half an hour.'

'Do you never want to be quiet, Mina?' asked Gladys, with the gleam of
an amused smile.

'No, never. I'm not one of your pensive maidens. One silent member in a
family is enough, or it would stagnate. Clara sustains the dignity, I
the life, of the house, my dear. Oh, I wish somebody would come in. I
guess half a score of idle young women in the other houses of this
Crescent are consumed with the same desire. But nobody ever _does_ come
in, by any chance, when you want them. When you don't, then they come in
in shoals. I say, Clara, isn't it ages since we saw any