have something else to say."

"What is it?"

"It's about papa. He goes out walking with us--doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"He didn't go out walking with me--before you came here. I've been
thinking about it; and I'm sure papa likes you. What are you looking in
the drawer for?"

"For your lesson books, dear."

"Yes--but I haven't quite done yet. Papa talks a good deal to you, and
you don't talk much to papa. Don't you like him?"

"Oh, Kitty!"

"Then do you like him?"

"How can I help liking him? I owe all my happiness to your papa."

"Do you like him better than mamma?"

"I should be very ungrateful, if I liked anybody better than your
mamma."

Kitty considered a little, and shook her head. "I don't understand
that," she declared roundly. "What do you mean?"

Sydney cleaned the pupil's slate, and set the pupil's sum--and said
nothing.

Kitty placed a suspicious construction of her own on her governess's
sudden silence. "Perhaps you don't like my wanting to know so many
things," she suggested. "Or perhaps you meant to puzzle me?"

Sydney sighed, and answered, "I'm puzzled myself."

Chapter VII. Sydney Suffers.

In the autumn holiday-time friends in the south, who happened to be
visiting Scotland, were invited to stop at Mount Morven on their way to
the Highlands; and were accustomed to meet the neighbors of the Linleys
at dinner on their arrival. The time for this yearly festival had now
come round again; the guests were in the house; and Mr. and Mrs. Linley
were occupied in making their arrangements for the dinner-party. With
her unfailing consideration for every one about her, Mrs. Linley did not
forget Sydney while she was sending out her cards of invitation.
"Our table will be full at dinner," she said to her husband; "Miss
Westerfield had better join us in the evening with Kitty."

"I suppose so," Linley answered with some hesitation.

"You seem to doubt about it, Herbert. Why?"

"I was only wondering--"

"Wondering about what?"

"Has Miss Westerfield got a gown, Catherine, that will do for a party?"

Linley's wife looked at him as if she doubted the evidence of her own
senses. "Fancy a man thinking of that!" she exclaimed. "Herbert, you
astonish me."

He laughed uneasily. "I don't know how I came to think of it--unless it
is that she wears the same dress every day. Very neat; but (perhaps I'm
wrong) a little shabby too."

"Upon my word, you pay Miss Westerfield a compliment which you