ere
more than equal to all the diplomacy of thrust and parry to be gained
by living in society. Her stepmother, who was apparently as
good-natured as she seemed brainless, was prepared to be gushing, but
that was nipped in the bud by the way Dawn extended her pretty, firm
hand with the dimpling wrist and knuckles and exquisitely tapering
fingers.

Her father and aunt, who were tall and angular, with thin faces of
dull expression, met a similar reception, and she presented them to me
herself, explaining that I was a very dear friend with her for the
wedding.

I had long since risen from a boarder to be a guest and friend of the
house, and it had devolved upon me to exhibit the presents and
interview the endless callers at this time of nine days' wonder.

It being hot, the ladies retired to doff their hats ere partaking of
afternoon tea, and Dawn took her father's hat while he trumpeted in
his handkerchief and attempted a few commonplace platitudes from the
biggest and stiffest arm-chair in the "parler," into which he had
subsided. I left the room, but could hear him from where I stood
awaiting the ladies' reappearance, one from the room that had been
Miss Flipp's and the other from the one I had at first occupied, and
Mr George Mudeheepe was to occupy the third one of these apartments,
which had been empty since the tragedy.

"Dawn, my dear, you are your mother once again," he said with a sigh;
"I have never seen you, and now you are sufficiently grown to be
married."

"Yes," said the girl.

"Will you give me a kiss?"

"I'd rather not. You see you are only a stranger to me. I have never
heard of you only as the man who was a monster to my mother. I never
saw her, but I remember to love her for what she did for me, whereas
you, what did you do for her and me? I would like you to understand
how I feel on this subject, so that there can be no mistake," said the
girl honestly.

"Oh, well, I didn't come here to be told that, but to give consent to
your marriage."

"Oh!" said the girl, rearing the pretty head with its wealth of bright
hair, "as for that, I'm going to marry. If you like to exercise your
authority I'll run away and you can't unmarry me. It is at grandma's
wish you are here; she said to let old bitterness sleep for the time
you are here, and so I will now that I have explained that I utterly
refuse to recognise that a father is anything but a stranger unless he
discharges the responsibilities of the